


When I See You Again

by sahdah



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Car Accidents, F/M, Language, Your Name AU, celestial destruction, nsfw situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-12-07 17:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20979524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahdah/pseuds/sahdah
Summary: Soul has a recurring dream where a girl calls out his name asking if he remembers her. Waking up with the usual sense of loss this dream imparts, he's shocked to find he has a woman's- well girl's- body. A Kimi No Na Wa/ Your Name (AU) My Soul Eater Resonance Bang 2017 submission **warnings for language, car accident, celestial destruction, and nsfw situations.





	1. Chapter 1

Time is the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

**Chapter 1**

"_Soul."_

A boy stirs in his sleep. There is a voice calling for him. A voice near to his heart.

"_Soul."_

They hesitate. There are shapes- people perhaps? Mist envelopes him, and he feels confused, frustrated.

"_Soul?"_ They implore_, "don't- don't you remember me?"_

Words are rarely spoken so tenderly to him; he feels compelled to look up.

A girl stares at him with vivid green eyes that cut him to his soul. Who is this stranger? Why is she looking at him like she knows him? No one knows him. No one gets close enough.

The doors open and she's being pushed away from him. Something twists in his heart, and he has a feeling there is something he must do. What is it? "Wait!" he hears himself shout hoarsely. "What's your name?"

He watches her face light up, eyes bright and beaming, and his soul wrenches in his chest as he sees her fumble with a ribbon in her hair. Hair that is the color of sun-warmed sand or golden wheat. A red ribbon, so vivid in the waning light of day, flies at him. He catches it.

For an instant they're connected. Eyes, ribbon, and time. "Maka. My name is Maka!" she cries; he sees tears sparkle and then they're torn apart.

He's left with the ribbon in his hands, wondering why he's clutching it like his life depends on it.

Upon closer inspection, he finds It isn't a ribbon at all. It's a braided cord.

* * *

Soul jolts awake, eyes flying open, his heart hammering in his chest, breathing hard.

Somewhere close by his phone is going off, the alarm blasting shrilly and he just can't _deal_. There is pain in his chest, and it takes a moment to notice that his face is wet. Something feels out of place as he becomes aware there are tears falling. Why is he crying?

Brain parsing through random information, Soul realizes that his face feels really smooth, his chest feels weird, and when he looks down- _what the fuck?_

Blinking, he tries to quell the rising panic. Something is definitely not right.

What in the hell is he wearing? A stretched out tank top? Did Wes fucking prank him in his sleep? And why does his chest feel so weird?

Looking down and focusing he sees an unfamiliar scene. He's dreaming, must be.

Vaguely, he recalls looking over Kilik's shoulder as his oldest friend attempted to get him interested in girls. The particular model had been wearing a small tank top too, not unlike this thing with the really tiny straps that most girls wear during summer with bras. Except!

His head jerks up, and he inhales sharply. The girl in Kilik's pin up had definitely not been wearing a bra, and while she was cute with tightly curled hair, a bright smile, and small, pert tits- Soul felt ambivalent to the whole experiment.

However, the dream about the cord is still fresh on his mind. The girl from the dream was all green, green eyes, stardust freckles, and golden hair. He can feel his body reacting.

But, in this whatever the fuck version of reality, the body he's in does something unexpected. Soul feels his tummy coil, contracting, and then his nipples get hard, straining against the soft cotton on the thin tank top. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Something is wrong! So, so wrong- tits! There are tits in his shirt. Not knowing what else to do, he brings up his hands to cup his chest, experimentally. "Holy shit," he wheezes.

His palms are filled- just barely- by warm, soft cotton-covered flesh. The weight, perhaps, is that of a small bag of rice. Like the kind that his mother would make for ice packs when he was a child.

Soul sits there stunned, holding the tits- boobs? No, the _breasts, _in his hands, feeling dazed and confused.

The sliding door to his room is violently pulled back without warning. Whatever is tied on top of his head wobbles as he snaps his head in the direction of the sound. He's met with dark inquisitive eyes framed by straight black hair and violet eyes, and a bright flaming red face.

"Maka," the girl sputter's, giving him a weird look.

_Maka?_ Soul thinks. _Does she mean me?!_

The girl looks down at his hands, then back up to his already red face. "Why are you holding your boobies?"

He's lost. He doesn't know what to do- this dream is crazy.

"Get up, you pervert, or you're going to be late!" Without waiting for a retort the sliding door is returned with a forceful smack that jolts the boy sitting on the bed, breasts still firmly in hand.

"What was that about?" What's wrong with his voice? What the fuck is happening? Shouldn't he have woken up by now?

Kicking off the blankets with his legs makes him suck in a breath. These are not his legs!

Soul can feel the beginnings of a panic attack and wills down mouthfuls of air. Although, the urge to run his incredibly petite hands up and down his body is very real. He just can't bring himself to relinquish his grip on what now feels like the world's greatest pair of stress balls. And he's beyond stressed, at the moment.

Sitting, processing, he gazes around the room. It's very tidy, with books stacked neatly on shelves. A few pictures. Is that a poem tacked to the wall? Seems nerdy. Outside of the window the sky is bright, a blue unmarred by city smog, with clouds that are huge and fluffy.

Slowly observing his surroundings, he finally sees a mirror across the room. Gets up carefully on new fawn legs and totters on a gait that is completely alien to his own slouchy shuffle.

This body is lithe. Legs fill most of the mirror, ending in pink cotton panties with a tiny bow in the front. Carefully, he pulls up on the tank top, disentangling it from the odd little Chun Li style buns on his head, and he's free. A wave of goosebumps mar the smooth skin.

His waist is small, toned, smooth lines going up to the soft breasts (he's not blushing) he's been holding for the past few minutes, but it's his face that gives him pause. Soft pink lips, a dusting of freckles that remind him of something... and then he sees green- green eyes fringed by golden honey colored hair.

These are the exact color opposite of his eyes. Eyes that keep darting around the face of the mirror trying to explain what it is that he's seeing.

_Just what in the hell is going on?_ he thinks, staring at his reflection- at the reflection of a complete stranger.

X

Fifteen minutes or a lifetime later, he walks carefully towards the sounds of conversation, but more importantly, the smell of food.

Feeling strangely exposed in his newfound combat boots (which are cool) and long socks, Soul runs sweat covered palms over his incredibly tiny skirt. _How can anyone feel safe wearing so little?_ he wonders.

Getting dressed was _fun- _buttoning a shirt and tying a necktie was no big deal, not after wrangling a bra. What he thinks is a bra, anyway; he's pretty sure that the flimsy ivory swimsuit-looking fabric _torture device _is meant to provide more cover for his gravity defying boo- _breasts_\- he mentally trips over the word again, embarrassment fresh on his face.

He walks into the Japanese style dining room cautiously. The girl from earlier this morning is eating and side-eyeing him suspiciously from the low table. An old woman looks up from her bowl of... miso soup?

Soul spots the rice maker and suppresses a groan. Seriously? The owners at the restaurant insist _American_ breakfast is a travesty. Begrudgingly he grabs a small bowl, thinking that in his anxiety-riddled state it's for the best. He probably can't handle very much solid food anyway. He carefully spoons a small scoop into the bowl, muttering to himself- he would have preferred Lucky Charms.

There is a small television broadcasting the news of a celestial event that is going to occur next month. A never before seen event- once in a lifetime! The two co-hosts are giddy.

Soul isn't focused- his neck feels itchy. Looking up, he sees the old woman regarding him shrewdly.

"Maka dear, you're wearing your hair different today." The old lady has a warm voice and Soul is equal parts comforted and ready to hyperventilate.

"I, uh." Fighting the buns off his head is still vivid in his mind. "Wanted to try something new," he responds, trying not to pull the statement into a question. His snark sounds different in the voice of this girl, _Maka_. Soul feels a thrill go through him. He likes how she sounds.

"It was just an observation, dear, is all." The woman repeats, nonplussed by his tone.

And because Soul has had music drilled into him since the age of three, he recognizes the familial tonality of the older woman's voice. "Sorry...grandmother," he surmises.

"No need to apologize dear, you look lovely." The woman smiles brightly, her own hazel green eyes sparkling in the morning light.


	2. Chapter 2

****

**Chapter 2**

After dressing quickly, Maka makes her way to the dining room where Tsugumi and Grandmother are eating breakfast.

Grabbing her plate, she dishes out a portion of rice, and begins mentally going over a few problems she's reviewing for an exam later this week.

"You're normal today," Grandmother remarks bluntly, staring at her eldest grandchild with wisdom-filled hazel-green eyes.

"Ah!" Maka startles. Why wouldn't she be normal? Looking from grandmother to her cousin is a mistake.

The latter pipes up, "Yeah you were completely nuts yesterday."

"What are you talking about?" Maka asks, voice squeaking, wringing her hands in her lap. All previous thoughts of exam review notes fly out the window.

Before anyone can answer her, the public address system for Death City goes off. "_Good morning, this is an announcement from Death City Town Hall. Mark your calendars for the election on the 20th of September-"_

The sound cuts off abruptly when grandmother yanks the plug from the wall.

To redirect Tsugumi's attention from grandmother's steadily growing glower, Maka turns on the news. They are avidly going over coverage for the comet. "_It'll be visible for several days, leading up to the day of the closest encounter on October 4th!"_

"Oh," Maka says to try and distract her cousin, "that's the day of the Autumn Festival."

Tsugumi sets down her fork after swallowing thoughtfully. "Can't you just make up with him?" she asks, looking from Grandmother to Maka.

"Don't," Maka says. "Just leave it. They're adult matters." And she gets up to go to her room.

///

In front of her mirror, she finishes tying her twin tails, gently tugging a strand of her unruly bangs before reaching back into her drawer to pull out a red braided cord that she ties around her head. She shoulders her bag after one last look, satisfied.

At the front door she and Tsugumi wave to grandmother.

The morning is bright and cool. The early September sun soaks into her fair skin, making her feel happy. Tsugumi, discontent with her cousin's slow pace, runs along faster, leaving Maka to contemplate a funny dream she's been having when a loud voice calls out, "Yo Maks, wait up!"

Turning, she sees her two best friends. "Star. Kid." Her smile is radiant.

Black Star pedals his mountain bike and Kid rides along on his skateboard. It isn't until they get up closer to her that she sees Star appraising her with a ridiculous frown.

"Hi," she says brightly, trying to put the strangeness from this morning behind her.

"Are you okay?" Kid asks, the curious white stripes in his hair shining in the morning light.

"What he means," Star says, interrupting and poking Maka hard on the shoulder, "is did Gran exorcise you." His blue hair is spiked up cheerfully in the latest hipster fashion and completely at odds with the incredibly serious look he's leveling at her.

"Hnnn," Maka keens, wondering just what the heck happened yesterday.

Star stops the bike while Kid flips his board neatly into his hands. They both look at her under the combined microscope of their stares before launching into a recap of the events while talking over themselves

"You went nuts!"

"Completely possessed."

"I mean probably not possessed."

"Did you forget? That shit is real, Kid!"

The girl feels a strong desire to brain them both for being jerks, but instead, she continues to walk, choosing to ignore them completely.

Unfortunately for her, she's forgotten why she avoids this particular route these days.

To her left a man with fire red hair addresses a sizable crowd from a small platform. Members from Stark Construction are present, Black Star's father among them, standing off to the side. There are a number of students from the school. Maka's back goes ramrod straight.

She thinks she hears one of the more nasty ones say, "Makes sense, the kids hanging out, if he's bribing the contractor." Others discuss the means by which her father secures votes, "Makes eyes at the ladies." "Favors for the contractors." "Wines and dines influential citizens." Of course this type of town gossip is anything but favorable for her.

To distance herself from her no good, back dealing, fornicating papa, Maka lives with her grandmother. Granny Kimura is the only connection she has left to her mama. And it hurts knowing how much, or rather how little, her mama had meant to him.

When mama died in childbirth along with her stillborn sister, all Spirit could think about was his empty bed. Maka never understood if Spirit just ignorantly thought she was too little to understand her papa was actually abandoning her or if he seriously thought he was making the right decision to leave her in the care of her grandmother, since Gran had been there her entire life. She lost two parents that day- how could she ever forgive him? Only later, after realizing his mistake, he's been trying to make amends, but it's hard to put it all behind her when-

"My darling baby angel!" he calls out, ignoring his constituents. "Don't walk next to those hooligans, you're too good for them, baby."

The heat emanating from her face is a mixture of mortification and hell fire. However, saying anything at this point is worthless because her foolish papa needs people to vote for him.

Feeling trapped, she picks up the pace, but not before she hears some of the students laughing in glee, "He says that to his own daughter!?" "Wonder how his contractor feels about his son being labeled a hooligan?" "I'd be so embarrassed!"

The day progresses slowly, only because each class brings a slew of strange looks from more strangers. _What exactly had happened yesterday?_ Maka wonders for the umpteenth time.

Second to last period is her Japanese language class where they are going over historical dialects. This is a favorite class because her family ancestors had immigrated long ago, along with many others, bringing their cultures and rich history, keeping traditions alive.

Professor Azusa is writing new vocabulary on the whiteboard while Maka flips through her notebook trying to find the last notes she wrote down. She has no memory of the lesson at all…

There is a silence that presses on her ears when Maka realizes that everyone is staring at her again.

But, a boldly written: _Who are you? _has caught her attention.

"Maka?" Ms. Azusa's voice cuts through her half formed thought.

Her chair screeches as she jumps up, "ah".

Ms. Azusa gives her a long look through her glasses, "Glad to see you remember your name today."

There are titters all around her. Maka can feel her face burning scarlet, torn between wanting to destroy everyone and hoping the floor will open and swallow her whole.

It doesn't.

The rest of the class hour she spends jotting down notes around the phrase she found in her notebook, _Who are you?_ It isn't her handwriting. Was it an incorrect note for _tasokare-doki_ which means 'who is that?' Maka's pen keeps tapping _kataware-doki_, the more ancient word for twilight.

Grandmother would tell her stories about twilight and strange dreams. 'It's when the world blurs and you might encounter something extraordinary,' she would say, to a wide-eyed Maka.

When the final bell rings and she meets up with Star and Kid, the exhaustion is real. People have openly laughed at her, there has been so much whispering and pointing it should be illegal, and the real clincher? That random note in her language notebook, _Who are you?_

What in the valley of Death was that about? She knows beyond a doubt she didn't write it.

"Star," she hedges, trying to keep her glare civil. "Did you write that note in my notebook?"

Slurping a Capri Sun noisily through the tiny straw, teal eyes narrow at her suspiciously. "What note?"

Is he seriously being difficult about this? "The one that says 'Who are you?'"

"Was it in blue ink or black sharpie?"

He's got her there.

"No," she says, holding the vowel, feeling petulant.

"Wasn't me then," he says, throwing his juice pack in the can behind her. "Or was it? And I was writing you messages from beyond!" he says, trying to make ominous music. He fails and ends up giving a screeching rendition of the X-files theme.

"Ignore him, he's been reading up on the Everett Multiverse theory again." Across from them Kid peels his string cheese carefully so that it remains as even as possible. "You know, you showed up looking disheveled. Your hair was pulled up into a hideous," he pauses trying to correctly describe the atrocity, "asymmetrical, lopsided-" he shudders and turns to Star, "-man bun, would you say?"

Blue haired Star nods, "Yup." Popping the 'p' dramatically.

A horrid vision of her in a messy top knot walking around like a snarky shark manifests in Maka's head. "What?" she whines, tripling the length of the word.

Kid continues peeling his cheese, oblivious of Maka's rising horror. "You forgot where your locker was. The combination. Everything." Behind him Star emphasizes everything with over muscled arms waving haphazardly.

Her head hits the back of the chair as she sinks further down in the hard plastic. Maka stares up at the bright blue sky through the leaves. "I've been feeling so strange like I've been living someone else's life in a dream," she whispers to the breeze.

"Well yeah," Kid responds, damn his keen ears. "You've got that ritual coming up, don't you?"

The afternoon air fills with the sound of a dying pterodactyl, "Kid, don't remind me." It's been the strangest day. Her heart hurts like it's filled with a sense of loss, but she isn't missing anything. That she knows of. Her hand tugs at her bangs, worrying at her fringe- her one nervous habit.

She unwinds herself from the chair, and Kid and Star look up as she sends the chair flying with a combat boot. The scant birds startle at the sound of Maka yelling. "I just want to be finished with school so I can get out of this dying town and move to Vegas!"

The sun is hot as they make their way back home, Maka and Kid happily listing the sins against the town of Death _City._

"It's so small, everyone knows _everything _about you," Maka huffs.

Kid steals a quick glance at Star, who is halfheartedly peddling his bike. "Yeah, there are no book stores. Forget comics shops."

"The sun beats down on it mercilessly," Maka carries on. "The daylight hours are _so _long."

"Shit for public transportation," Kid throws out.

"One small grocery store- closes at eight pm sharp," Maka adds.

"But seriously two bars!?" they exclaim together. They leave out her Papa's plans for a newer, more modern _club_.

Star rolls along idly, Vans scuffing the worn pavement. "We could always go to Deathbucks," he offers, turning the suggestion into a hopeful question.

"Really?" Kid and Maka exclaim.

///

At a random corner in Death City there is a new Deathbucks vending machine. Kid quietly accepts the double shot canned espresso from Star and they both slump into the bus bench that shares the space with the vending machine.

"What?" says Star rather abrasively to Kid. Maka has already walked home.

The black haired boy colors slightly at the intense look. "Nothing. She just, seems stressed is all."

"Aren't we all," he responds, stretching out, long limbs cracking. He calls out to a stray cat that lives around the area.

Kid observes his friend fawn over the little black cat, gushing as he tells her he's going to adopt her and name her Blair since it's girlish and matches the first three letters of his given name, Blake. Not that this is something he wants others to repeat, preferring to go with his own self styled Black Star because he gave it to himself.

"Star," Kid says, quietly speaking up, "What do you plan on doing when you graduate?"

Blue-green eyes look up as he observes his friend while scratching the cat's chin, her soft purrs filling the void while he thinks. "You're asking what I'm doing with my future?"

Kid nods.

"Fuck, I don't know," he says. "Probably stay here and live it out in this town watching Star Wars reruns."

A knot forms in Kid's throat. If those are Star's plans, he'll have to sit on his feelings forever.

The best part of the bench is the view. In the distant skyline, the lights of the Kimura Temple glitter. "Poor Maka," Star sighs, "she might have the worst lot out of us all."

Kid keeps his eyes on his hands wrapped around the can, attempting to wrap up his self pity. After a few moments, he hums his affirmation.

///

The wooden spools of thread clack as Grandmother weaves her braided cord, a Kimura family traditions for ages. Ever since she was a little girl Maka's had vivid memories of her grandmother weaving these cords that serve as a record of the Kimura family history, along with their temple.

"Ugh, I give up," Tsugumi huffs, exasperated, from the corner where she is working at twisting her fibers into thread, trying to create her own thread to fill her bobbins. "It's so hard and I'm bored."

Grandmother looks up from her work, smiling at her youngest granddaughter. "Tsugumi, how much of our history do you remember?"

The young girl bends over, hiding her face in her knees. Maka takes pity on her.

"We have over a thousand years of traditions," Maka says, as she moves bobbins from left to right, up and down, in an intricate pattern, working on her own cord. When Tsugumi rolls her head to face her, Maka gives her a wink.

"That's right," Gran nods, continuing to work. From past experience, Maka knows she isn't done lecturing, so she settles in, focusing on her pattern. "It is important to keep traditions alive. Because if we don't, we lose pieces of ourselves. The histories of the Kimura family have been handed down meticulously for over a thousand years, and two hundred years ago, there was a fire that destroyed so much of that history. Today we only have the traditions, we continue to weave the cords because-" She turns to Tsugumi "-as we work the thread, we interweave it with our memories and pieces of ourselves. The thread then absorbs those memories and we can pass them onto the ones that follow."

By this point Tsugumi has tuned out grandmother, trying to keep her frustration from breaking through. Maka watches her cousin while her fingers weave. She understands the girl's pain because she herself had endured countless hours of thread making to weave her first cord, the cord she keeps tied on her head.

She hears grandmother grind out something about words being lost and not losing the importance of the traditions. Her skin crawls because she knows it's coming. Sure enough, grandmother starts grumbling. 'No good son-in-law!' 'Leaving Shinto for politics, _politics.' '_Philandering- _baka!'_

The words sting Maka. Her papa- she sighs- while he is all those things, he is still her papa. As her own bobbins clack, she wonders what sort of emotions this cord will reflect in the next life.

///

The sensation of being under a microscope is one that Maka is intimately familiar with. This isn't to say she likes it one bit. In fact, she wishes she could be anywhere else.

She and Tsugumi are in the middle of the ritual dance for their shrine, four weeks before the Autumn Festival. Given any opportunity she would love to disappear, but here she is. The bright lights of the open air temple, the weight of the traditional priestess robes, and the precise movements of the dance they are performing make for an increasingly uncomfortable experience. Sweat is beading between her shoulder blades and her breasts. Lucky for her, she isn't required to smile, so the firm set of her lip is her only consolation.

Outside the bright glare of the lights that obscure her vision in the ever increasing darkness, Maka can just feel the crowd growing.

Kuchikami sake…

Maka sighs internally, trying not to think of the ache starting in her shins as she kneels on the hard pavilion floor chewing her rice. Her mouth feels more dry with every movement of her jaw.

"..._virgin_ spit sake…"

The night is still, allowing voices to carry. The person is anonymous only in the sense she can't see who speaks, but she would know that particular voice anywhere. Hindered by her shrine priestess duties, for now, she has to chew and spit chew and spit, and keep her face from betraying her anger.

The way the 'S's' are stressed and the way the utterly false giggle carries means that Medusa and her group have joined the crowd.

The same group had been present as her papa, mayor incumbent, had mortified her in front of the community only this morning. It's natural that they'd show up now; she's a sitting duck for gossip fodder.

"Mmm." Presumably Free, a tall massively gruff junior, grunting his assent. "Yummy."

Maka can feel her pulse in her forehead and knows her face has sweat beading up near her hairline. What she really wants to do is chop the mindless trio with her world encyclopedia.

Another girl's voice joins them, "eww" she croaks. "I could never do that, she must be so embarrassed!"

_Well now!_ Maka thinks vehemently. Her perfectionism and her devotion to her mama are the only things that keep the flow of now liquid rice consistent.

After what feels like forever, her rice is chewed to perfection and sealed along with Tsugumi's. The crowd has long since retreated. They're mercifully alone.

Tsugumi laughs as they leave the temple. Maka, on the other hand, slumps into the bundle of robes she's carrying. "Ugh, can this day. Just. _End_."

Undeterred in her exuberance, Tsugumi can't comprehend Maka's mood and voices as much. "Who cares if some jerks from your class saw you?"

Looking at her younger cousin, Maka yearns for the simplistic, blissful lack of concern of prepubescent youth. "You wouldn't understand," she hums glumly.

Tsugumi shrugs. As they make their way down the long still sun-warmed stairs, the younger pipes up again. "Then take ownership!" she declares, startling Maka. "Move to the city and sell 'Young Virgin Sake,' it would be a real hit!" she chirps, waggling her eyebrows.

Aghast, Maka sputters, trying to come up with reasons why this is a bad idea. A version of herself in a traditional kimono blowing kisses at strangers while holding a sake bottle with a pin up girl dressed in white lace makes her face flush. And she finally lets out a strangled, "That would break all sorts of liquor laws!"

Shrugging her small shoulders, Tsugumi drops the topic.

They've reached the gate of their temple and Maka runs out to the ledge that overlooks the desert, crying out to the sleeping town, "I'm sick of my life! I'm sick of this stupid city! In my next life please make me a- a-" She struggles, trying to think of the most inconceivable variation of a person. "A handsome, white-haired boy with red eyes living in Vegas!"

Tsugumi shakes her head, wondering if her cousin has finally lost her marbles.


	3. Chapter 3

****

**Chapter 3**

The sky is lit by the trailing tail of the magnificent comet. It's all that fills her sight. The stars falling.

Falling.

The light flickers bright and Maka doesn't have time to feel fear, only one regret.

_Soul? Don't you remember me?_

Just one.

_Wait! What's your name?_

/

Reaching for her ringing phone, Maka hits the ground with a hard "umph." The dream about the comet makes her hyper aware that she's been having strange hallucinations lately. And- she shouldn't have fallen out of any bed, let alone hers!

Something is wrong! What's in her mouth- did she fall asleep chewing gum? Pushing her body into a sitting position, she freezes as sharp teeth meet something hard and metallic in her mouth- a tongue ring?! And, there's a distinct anatomical difference in the motion. Where in the nine hells are her breasts? Why is her tongue so long? And-!

Taking a deep breath and peeking, she realizes she's wearing men's shorts and a simple white t-shirt. But- but- there's something extra _down there!_

How can she be sure she's awake or asleep anymore?

Willing the heat in her face to die down, she cautiously brings a hand to her crotch.

A wordless shriek fills her mind, because she should not have anything- _anything- _down there. But, there _it_ is.

Her face feels hot. Gingerly she pats her cheeks and they feel soft but rugged all at the same time. What the Death has happened here?! There is no more time for introspection, her- _whosit's phone-_\- is going off and there is a loud knock on the door.

"Soul, I'm out. Lock up. And, you'd better hurry or you're going to be late!" A voice announces with perfect diction, underlain with something that gives Maka the sense of warm, rueful affection. "Yo, today was your day to make breakfast!"

"Ugh", she coughs out in a rich bass that is similar and yet altogether different from the voice that has now clearly exited the premises- if the sound of a heavy door closing is anything to go by.

Maka sits there dazed until physical needs make themselves known. Oh _death no, s_he has to pee!

/

Face flaming, she exits the bathroom. Clearly she has been studying too much and has exhausted herself into dreaming up some alternate reality. A reality where she is a well built young man, with strangely colored hair, and even more oddly colored eyes. He isn't, ah, unattractive- heat re-floods her face as she thinks of the bathroom wanting to die. She couldn't do it- hold it!

At one point as a child, she remembers having the peeing discussion with Star before Kid had become their friend. She was adamant girls could do anything boys could. "'Betcha can't pee standing up!" he challenged.

"Can too," she replied hotly. She'd felt embarrassed and frustrated to learn that girls could not, in fact, pee standing up. Maka was sore about losing out to Blake but- she had learned a valuable lesson- boys _could _pee sitting down!

She sobers quickly, remembering the other thing she'd noticed. A huge diagonal scar that runs from the left shoulder across the chest down to her- well, _his_\- right hip. She's never seen such a dreadful scar- what had happened? Idly, she runs her hands over the cotton of the shirt, feeling it all the way back to the room, trying to figure out what she's going to wear.

As luck would have it, this stranger wears normal uniforms, even if she has no clue where Bishop Gormon might be?

While she stands in the room dressed but unable to think or react properly, the phone buzzes with another message from Kilik (a name she doesn't recognize). [[Where r u man?]]

Outside the stranger's room, she finds herself in a well furnished apartment. A baby grand sits in the corner, gleaming. On the walls there are pictures of the identity her subconscious has conjured up, along with a young man who must belong to the voice that yelled at her this morning. They're wearing suits, the older holding a violin, standing in front of a piano. But who are they? Where are their parents?

Near the front door she locates her bag- _his bag_, she corrects herself. Inspecting the contents she finds a random headband with a patch of an open lipsticked mouth and another smaller patch spelling "SOUL" stitched next to it. There is a wallet inside: Soul Hunter Evans.

Her eyes flit back and forth from license to headband, confused by the giant mouth. Well, he does have that long tongue and, much to her embarrassment, she nearly drools. _Soul Hunter- maybe Soul _Eater _would've been a better fit_, Maka thinks sardonically. Growing up in Death City has a way of warping you. Eyeing the strange headband one last time, she shuts the wallet carefully. Then she takes it out and flips it back open, her eyes take a moment to rivet on the city; Las Vegas.

Las Vegas!

She shoves the wallet back into the backpack where it hits a set of keys, which she assumes must be the house keys. Fishing them out, they're attached to something that looks suspiciously like a leather tassel. It takes her a few more minutes to locate the correct key to lock up, but she manages in the end.

Outside, the sun is bright, the clouds move carelessly above in a blue sky, and she feels free!

/

"There he is!" A guy with braided locks and hipster style frames snags her with a heavy arm and Maka tenses. "Only you show up at lunch, Eater."

Without thinking Maka replies, "I thought it was Hunter?" remembering the wallet.

"And I'm Kilik..." says the guy, now holding her at arm's length and looking at her skeptically. "Are you okay man?"

"Uh, why Eater?" she mumbles, unsure of everything.

"You mean you haven't eaten anything today?" The cautiousness with which he says this makes Maka giggle nervously. And, in this body, it comes out in a low chest rumbling chuckle that makes her insides feel funny all of a sudden. "You okay?"

It's then that Maka's stomach chooses to grumble loudly. "Uh, I forgot my lunch," she says vacantly, lost in the warm sound of her dream voice.

"I'm sure Harvar and I can spot you something," he says, clapping her on the back, "you overgrown garbage disposal."

Without much protest, she's dragged along after him…

Harvar stares at her like he sees something through his sunglasses that hasn't become immediately clear to Kilik, and it makes her feel anxious and vulnerable. The nerves have her messing with the tongue ring, a rapidly developing bad_,_ _bad_ habit. She keeps running it along her lips. Why does this boy have his really long tongue pierced?

"Will you stop doing that?!"

Maka squeaks, surprised to hear him speak at all, and she nearly chokes on her tongue and sandwich. "You walked here?" he asks, ignoring her outburst.

Not fully recovered, Maka decides it's safer to nod.

"That makes no sense. You typically come on Matilda."

Choking coughs ensue wracking her body and her chest feels particularly tight where the angry scar is. This dream sure is realistic for being, well, a dream. And, just who is Matilda?

"Dude, what's wrong with you? You're playing with that tongue ring like you just got it," Harvar says, the knit eyebrows above his sunglasses the only thing that give away his skepticism. "You walked- that never happens, if you can help it. You didn't ride your motorcycle- that never happens. And you show up without your usual fanfare of the latest shit you saw on Chopped-"

"I get it." The annoyance in her deep voice startles her, but Maka finishes bravely. "That never happens."

Nonplussed, Harvar responds emphatically, "Exactly!"

This earns him a quizzical look from Kilik. "Look," he says, eyeing both Harvar and Maka suspiciously. "Maybe we should all just calm down. Wanna meet up at Deathbucks after school?"

"Ohmigod!" she squeals, voice over bright. "Are you serious?" Maka loses all chill. Kid would cry if he knew she had the chance to visit his favorite cafe. The closest town with one is over an hour's drive one way! They save the pilgrimage for special occasions. And it's rather painful to see Kid sit and document the whole experience, especially the symmetry of the perfect latte foam art. "Yes, where? When?" she asks, giddy with excitement. But, seeing their horrified expressions, she quickly schools her features into resting bitch face, mumbling a, "yeah, uh, whatever." She tugs on the white fringe, worrying at the soft hair- a nervous habit.

Hours later, sitting in front of the most perfectly formed latte foam leaf, Maka is squirming for happiness on the inside; on the outside she is a slouchy, shark-toothed, petulant boy. And no one is raining on her parade!

She thumbs through his apps searching for Instagram. Becomes distracted by the long, well formed fingers of her hands. Honestly, she's never had such a vivid dream before in her life, ever.

As she finishes applying the filters on her latte, she gets a message from a (jack o'lantern emoji) Dupre: [[Where the hell are you? Your shift started ten mins ago! dipshit]]

"Uh," Maka stammers because there is no easy way around this. "Where do I work?"

/

As fate would have it, _Soul_, works at a high end Japanese restaurant on the strip; (jack o'lantern emoji) is actually _Jacqueline O'Lantern Dupre_ and Maka is scared_._ The tall, dark haired girl is not happy to have been covering for Soul, making her exactly an hour late to pick up her girlfriend who has now shown up, with bubblegum pink hair and a very sagacious expression.

"Jac, that is not Soul," Bubblegum Pink says, tugging on her girl's arm.

Maka's eyes go wide. But Jacqueline scoffs, muttering something about witches that Maka doesn't catch clearly, seeing as she's too entranced by the knowing vivid green eyed stare the small woman is giving her. Her shift starts with the small woman being dragged out by the tall brunette, but not before Bubblegum Pink gives her the universal hand sign for "I'm watching you."

"Soul!" Maka does a double take as a tall young woman hails her; for a second, she almost thinks it could be her own body. It isn't. As the woman comes into the light, the ashy blond turns golden and luminous and- those breasts. Maka weeps. She will never have a chest like that! She self consciously grabs her front, only to be met by pecs and that itchy, uncomfortable scar. Unsure why the gruesome scar is the one thing that steadies her in this reality, she wonders how it had happened?

"I've seated some people in your section- are you okay?" the woman says, perfectly sculpted brows arching concerned over the bluest eyes Maka has ever seen.

Maka is not okay. Still holding her chest awkwardly, she shakes her head slowly, distracted by the softness of this boy's hair and its amazing color as it flutters back and forth, obstructing her vision momentarily.

"Soul," the girl has come closer and Maka holds very still when she places a well manicured hand up on her shoulder. "Hey, it'll be okay. I can help you out."

With a winning smile she leaves. Maka is left breathless. Why can't she exude such cool confidence with anyone? She does her best to pop the bubble of jealousy that is forming.

The night passes like a nightmare she can't wake up from.

She's fumbled plates. Mixed up orders. The sous chefs have bitched her out. The executive chef threw a spatula at her. And, there was that one incident where some old lady grabbed her ass. An old lady! Granted with the albino-gothic thing she's got going on, well, she can't say she's surprised. Through it all, the tall, blonde server has been a gracious help.

The other servers... yeah, not so much.

Three guys in particular give her the Mean Girl chills: Hiro (the follower), Justin (the no one else better to hang out with), and Clay (the queen bee). The way the latter looks at the server whose name she finally learned after listening extra hard- Elizabeth 'Liz' Thompson- makes Maka sick to her stomach. She vows then and there that she will befriend Liz, which doesn't seem likely to be difficult since the woman seems to like the body she's in. The envious bubble in Maka's heart feels misplaced. There isn't time to think about it; she has another table waiting.

As she approaches table thirteen, she feels instantly put off. One of the guys is wearing a pageboy style vintage hat and his table-mate has a bridge piercing on his nose. Maka tries to remember she's in a relatively well built body, but remembering the scar, she feels an incredible need to protect this boy.

The rest of the evening continues to wreck her senses. And even the dubious duo (as she's dubbed them) hasn't harassed her as much as she would have thought.

When she is hailed over by said douchebros an hour and a half later, she knows the night is about to go sour. They are nearing belligerent intoxication- a few of the surrounding tables have complained.

"Hey! Snowflake!" Pageboy yells.

"Soul," Maka grinds out.

"Whatever, fuck boy," he snarls. The moment crawls as he leans back in his chair, making a grand sweep at his plate. "Look at that, Sawtooth!"

Maka's teeth grind together as she clenches her jaw to keep herself from saying something stupid and dutifully complies. _The customer is always right!_ She repeats this like a mantra in her head. Jabbed into the well eaten tonkatsu is a small toothpick. A toothpick.

"Ah, you see it, don't you, Sharkweek." Pageboy leers, leaning in. "Whadda think would've happened if I would have _eaten_ that?"

_With any luck? Choked,_ Maka thinks ruefully, but says nothing.

"I think you owe me an' my pal here a free dinner."

Bridge piercing howls with laughter at his companion's remarks.

"No, I don't think I do," Maka responds stubbornly.

The man moves quicker than she would have thought for someone so intoxicated, silver flashing near her hip. Instinctively, she steps back, astounded by the fact that he's actually threatening her with a knife in public.

"Hey!" a breathy voice says behind her left shoulder. "You're needed in the kitchen."

With a fluid motion, Liz steps between her and the table. Maka tries to protest, but with the heel of a sharp stiletto threatening her toes, she knows better than to press the matter and retreats, fuming, to the kitchen.

It isn't until after the place has closed after midnight when Liz is wiping off the servers' station and the wannabe k-pop-trio is giggling like rotten school kids, that Maka spies what has them blushing and chortling. And she's instantly livid.

_Those assholes!_ She crosses the room without thinking, grabs Liz firmly by the waist, and ushers her into the back office without much preamble, like she has done on several occasions with Tsugumi-

She hears a very surprised, high pitched, "Soul," exclaimed by Liz, who isn't as strong as she is- because she's a boy! And oh. _Oh!_

It's too late to do much about any of it, so she closes the door. "Liz, your skirt."

The look the blond woman throws at her is hard to read.

"Liz," Maka pleads. "Those shitheads slashed your skirt, take it off."

The young woman is scarlet, but runs her hands down her derriere now that "Soul" is keeping a healthy distance between them. Maka sees Liz's face go from blushing to postal in .03 and tosses a now stunned Liz one of the aprons.

"Look, ah, I can fix it," Maka reassures and promptly turns to give her privacy.

In the span of five minutes, Maka makes the finishing details on her emergency patch job, grateful that a high end restaurant actually has sewing supplies for these sorts of things. She has stitched up the deliberate slash with neat "X's" and embellished it with an impromptu skull and bones, to commemorate how badass Liz was, dealing with those jerks.

Liz watches closely from where she sits, perched on the desk wrapped in a kitchen apron, swinging her heeled feet, making Maka feel awkward.

Dutifully, she hands back the skirt and turns once more to give Liz privacy as she puts the garment back on. After a long moment of silence, Liz remarks, "Soul, I didn't know you could sew."

Maka is all arms and red face, because she doesn't know how to react in this body. In the short moments they've gotten to talk, Maka is just struck by the fact that she wants to be friends with Liz. Maka feels surprised by the admiration she feels for this girl in the span of just a few hours really, a girl who she might have written off as just a pretty face had she been in her own body.

That thought sobers her and helps cool her face; maybe she's more petty in her own body with women who have the curves she thinks she wants.

"Ahh." She struggles trying to think of something plausible. "Boy scouts?" she offers and looks away from the loaded glance Liz gives her. She is not in her own body, she is in this boy's body. And, again, she feels that twinge in her gut. Because if a woman like this takes interest in this Soul guy, what could make a guy like this look at her?

This is a dream, she reminds herself for the billionth time, on this seemingly endless day.

/

At last, she has returned to the apartment, managed not to get lost, and made it through evening bathroom changes with most of her modesty in tact. Back in his room, she stands before his bedroom mirror. She's never seen a boy this close before- well, not since Gran yelled at her for bathing with Star when they were four year olds, which so doesn't count.

She feels an interesting, familiar coiling in her abdomen, but it's coupled with a very unfamiliar bodily response. In the mirror, her face turns red and it's leeching down her neck, over taut stomach muscles that tie into well defined hips, but the dorky bone boxers she's sporting are starting to tent awkwardly and Maka is screaming internally. Hurrying, she drags a plain white t-shirt over her messy white hair, trying her hardest not to inhale 100 proof boy, because it isn't helping her situation at all.

Flopping on his bed, Maka feels spent. It's been the longest day she can remember. Idly, she flips through his phone gallery: one of the must be brother, the comet tail barely visible, and- she stops. Sitting up, her face drains of color and so do other body parts. He has a candid picture of Liz on his phone captioned with a simple question mark.

_A crush?_ She wonders, deflating completely.

Her soul feels heavy in his scarred chest, but then she has another idea. She flips through his phone apps and finds the calendar memo. Even if it is a strange dream, she wants him to remember it. _Remember this, Soul __**Eater **__Evans_. Fingers flying as she recaps the day, her notebook flashes in her mind with the strange question: _Who are you?_ She picks up one of his sharpies and scrawls "Maka" on his wrist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Soul wakes promptly, forgetting the past twenty four hours of feminine hell. Snuggles into his many, many pillows and wraps his hands comfortingly around his junk. He's never been particularly attached to that appendage which makes him markedly different from the opposite sex, physically at any rate. Well, waking up with tits- even small, perky ones (he tries to bury his shame in his pillows because he has totally misjudged breasts)- changes everything.

He drags his headphones over his ears and hits play, body relaxing as a piano piece begins- Liebestraum No. 3 in A flat. Lays in bed a few minutes longer, listening to the arpeggios until Wes, predictably, starts bitching at him.

"Soul! The school called, they said if you showed up again at lunch without a call from your guardian, they would be forced to bring in the parental. You know how much _mother_ would enjoy that." The subtle stress leaving nothing to the imagination. "Move your ass, little brother!"

_Yeah yeah_, she would enjoy that about as much as he would reform school. Which, incidentally, had been the threat: move in with Wes or pack your bags. Her feelings are valid, he thinks, but he lost so much that day as well.

"Fuck," he groans. "I'm up." He presses his palms to his eyes, wishing he didn't feel like he could sleep for eternity.

The footsteps retreat as his brother shouts. "Good."

After the song is over, he removes his headphones, setting them on the sheets. Sighing heavily, he pushes his hands through his hair, getting his unruly mop out of his face, when black marker catches his eye. Eyes squinting, he reads the letters scrawled across his wrist- "Maka".

He's sitting up examining his hand. "What the fuck?" he whispers. Absentmindedly reaching down for his phone on the floor next to his bed, he palms the ground a few times before he realizes it's not there.

A vibration from under his pillow reveals the phone's location. Retrieves it to find a message from Liz. [[Thanks for the patch job. I enjoyed our ride ;) ]]

Words aren't forming as he stares at the random message and decides he won't reply on principle. He has no idea what she's talking about. A sudden swooping in his stomach makes him feel as though he's going to vomit because he remembers nothing except a vague feeling of having worn a skirt to school yesterday. If he doesn't cool his shit, he's going to trigger a panic attack.

He rubs his scarred chest absentmindedly, slumping back in his bed as he scans his phone, pulling up his daily planner only to find a cryptic note: "Took a Lyft home with Liz thanks to my feminine powers." Someone's hacked his phone. It's the only logical conclusion, Soul thinks, holding his palms firmly against his eyes.

With an ungraceful scramble, Soul yanks up his blinds and presses his face to his window, craning his neck at just the right angle to see Matilda safe and intact in his parking space. The sigh of relief he lets out fogs his window and he slumps back to the bed, heart still racing. When it comes to priorities, Matilda _is _the list- bodily possession be damned. He'll figure out sooner or later who's fucked with his phone, 'cause this is low even for Wes.

/

Harvar's stare grates on his skin like itchy wool. Soul, feeling increasingly more hostile as the day continues, fidgets incessantly with his red wristband. Kilik is going on about the morning's lessons, but Soul has been subjected to Harvar's reflected stare for the past twenty minutes. He's had enough.

"Take a picture," Soul mutters, breaking his silence. "It'll last longer."

Unfazed, his oldest friend responds, "You're different today. Normal."

Soul looks up, staring at his own wild red eyed look mirrored in the boy's sunglasses.

Finally sensing the tension, Kilik punches Harvar in the arm, causing the latter to look at anything else.

"You've all been acting crazy," Soul grumbles.

Scoffing Kilik says, "Look who's talking." When he's met by Soul's level glare, he continues. "Yesterday you wigged out about Deathbucks. Squealed about Instagram- ya man, actually squealed," he says, fighting the look Soul gives him, "and," he pauses for dramatic flair, "asked us where you worked. Buddy, out of all of us, you're the one that's been actin' crazy."

Mouth still agape, Soul is left helplessly looking left then right and back. _No way, _he thinks, _no fucking way_. Digs out his phone. Sure enough, his never before used feed has amassed likes and- "Are you fucking kidding me?"- his bank account is nearly forty dollars lighter.

"You walked." Comes Harvar's monotone statement.

"You guys pranking me?" Soul spits, still angry. "'Cause that's fucked up."

Even as he says it, he knows that can't possibly be true and he feels like shit for having voiced that ungenerous thought, plus his legs are sore. "No, guess not," he growls.

Brushing off the incident, Kilik smiles wide and shakes his head. "You wanna come with to Deathbucks after school anyway?"

Soul gives him the same dubious look children around the world reserve for brussel sprouts. "No man, I've got work."

"Remember where you're going today?"

Soul gets up muttering curses, brushes off his uniform, and gives his friend the middle finger. Kilik cracks up, laughing loudly, and Soul leaves in a huff.

After a minute, Kilik calms down. "He's definitely himself today. You think?" he says, elbowing Harvar.

The boy straightens his sunglasses, blushing slightly. "I don't know," he says evenly, "he was sort of cute yesterday."

/

The entire day he's dodged people and double takes. Presently, he sits on a chair, trying to ignore the notes that have been flitting through his brain before his shift. Petulantly putting water droplets from his straw on the tightly scrunched paper wrap, he watches as the paper worm grows- Dad taught him how. He's avoiding eye contact with the guys from work who are staring daggers at him as if they were the popular middle school clique.

He feels cornered and tense, like a music string wound too tight about to break.

"Hi Soul." A smooth voice interrupts his stormy thoughts.

Unwilling to be a rude bastard, because he was raised better, he mumbles, "Uh, hey, Liz."

The tall blond smiles brightly then waves at the angry trio, "Let's have a good shift, m'kay boys?"

* * *

Maka wakes to her arms covered in angry looking pen slashes that upon closer observation read: Maka? Who are you? Why are you doing this?

As if this isn't bewildering enough, her door slides open to reveal her little cousin, Tsugumi, who is giving her a very pointed look. "Well, thank _Death_. You're not groping your boobies today."

Without further comment her door is slid forcefully shut.

Green eyes blink rapidly behind dusty blonde fringe as Maka wraps her arms around her chest defensively. Why the hell would she be groping her boobs?

/

Maka doesn't preoccupy herself with the opinions of others- when she can help it. But, this day isn't getting better. After greeting Kid brightly, the room immediately breaks off into a buzz of titters and pointed stares.

Now feeling bewildered, Maka slides into her seat next to Kid. "What happened?" she asks breathlessly, while trying to avoid looking in any general direction.

"Well," Kid looks at her carefully. "Do you not remember what happened yesterday?"

_Yesterday!? _she thinks, dread making her tummy feel queasy, and shakes her head, not brave enough to imagine what could possibly have occurred.

"Well, you were wearing your hair in the man-bun mess again," he says, steamrolling over her hard cringe. "Medusa and her crew were up to their usual shenanigans. You looked pissed. Asked if they were talking about you," he says all of this in his general monotone, working on the balance of his art piece, completely oblivious to Maka low-key freaking out. "And yeah they were, but-" He lowers his pencil.

Maka stares into her friend's eyes, willing him to spit it out.

"Basically, you ended up telling Medusa that she was wearing the cheap wannabe equivalent of Burberry's fall line up," Maka doesn't see how this is exactly terrible- "from three seasons ago. And you dissed her Coach knock-off. Then-" Kid stares at her. "You went on to tell Ms. Nygus where she had erred in her music history timeline."

The world fades to buzzing silence in her ears.

_What?!_ She doesn't know a thing about music, and she would never dream of correcting an instructor like some elitist music snob.

"Yeah, they're all afraid of you now," Kid says calmly, going back to his board. "I mean, at least they're not talking loud enough for you to hear anymore. So, that's an improvement?"

Her heart is hammering in her chest, "I s-suppose."

/

Running home after school, Maka flips through her phone furiously, going through her school notes, unaware that many many miles away a boy named Soul is doing the exact same.

The dates aren't matching up! "Oh my death," she wheezes. Staring at the notes that started appearing in her phone- "Showed them. Talking about her like that."

They're-

It is difficult to draw in air. Those dreams. They're not- not dreams! She's actually, magically? Spiritually? Could quantum physics be involved? How can she possibly be switching places with this boy?

It can't be possible!

The past few days crash before her mind's-eye, the things Star and Kid have said. The dreams she's had. The notes written on her arm- Tsugumi! Horrified, she clutches her chest. No, no, no, no, _no!_ She screeches internally. This is the stuff of movies, really badly written movies. Maka and Mama had loved watching Freaky Friday long ago, before-

It just can't be true. Maka shakes her head, feeling faint. Soul must be a _real_ boy around her age who lives in Vegas!?

/

The phone goes off in the morning.

Maka hits the ground with a hard thump. "Not again," she groans in his deep voice.

School is hard. She thought she was in advanced classes- but he's in some master's level music classes. Kilik and Harvar. The cafe. All the instagrams.

Liz smiling at her. Waiters yelling at her. Chefs yelling at her. Diners yelling at her.

She's yelling at herself.

Falling exhausted into his bed.

* * *

"Wake up!" Yells Tsugumi. "Quit groping yourself, pervert!"

Soul tries to bury himself in blankets. It's a dream. Boobs are interesting.

The country is so open. Is the air really this fresh?!

Foreign language?

Ugh. But, longer hair is sort of interesting.

His- _her_ dad is a nut!

Braiding things? He can't keep up.

He hasn't walked this far in his entire life! Crashing into bed, and hating himself for thinking he's really cute- _she_ is!

* * *

The days are beginning to blur, almost as if she's unsure of which timeline and reality she's in. What is time? Waking from switching with Soul feels like a very strange dream. They've started leaving messages so that they can decode what they're going through.

Even with all the madness, Maka feels comforted by the fact that she gets to share her life in such an...intimate...way. Oh! No, scratch that! What was it Tsugumi said- she's been touching her boobs recently- how _dare_ he!

She scrambles to her phone. They need to lay down ground rules! She opens her phone to write him a message and is distracted by his notes.

"_What's causing this? We change at random. Triggered by sleep? It's definitely happening going off everyone's reactions to us." _Us, her eyes stay on the word.

Okay, so maybe he hasn't been a creep about it- wait does that mean she isn't his type? Banishing that thought, she hastily types up a memo below his app: FORBIDDEN. In all caps, No groping! No touching! No baths!

She will take care of all those things when she's herself. Feels equal parts mortified and curious. Doesn't quite recall his looks other than she feels warm when she thinks of him. Does he, could he feel the same?

/

The hard, wooden floor of his room wakes her proper. Grumbling, she picks up his phone- is that classical music he's playing? He plays this song a lot, but she has no idea what the song is. She likes it. She has notifications sent from her phone number.

[[Yeah, we need to work together. You have rules so do I: Stop wasting my money. Quit messing with my tongue ring- okay, the skull is cool- but quit changing the ends daily, no one does that! Don't touch Matilda! And, don't be late! I need this job.]]

Maka scoffs at the phone, feeling defensive. She's working too, like a lot. He has had shifts every night she has switched with him; Vegas people are serious about their Japanese food. And besides, it's his own body eating what she buys, so he really can't be that upset with her. Plus it's boring keeping the same end on something she's become so attached to. Quells ideas of what it would feel like to kiss someone with one- or maybe just this particular someone.

That thought is dangerous.

Huffing out the door after finally getting dressed and saying good-bye to Wes, who she's become very fond of, never having had any siblings of her own, she's running to get where she's going- of course she'd never dream of riding his motorcycle, she'd probably get hit by a bus or something. Shakes her head of morbid thoughts, but is pleasantly surprised that by her constant running he seems to be gaining endurance. Tries hard not to think of what that is doing to his already well-built body.

_This guy!_ she wordlessly shrieks, angry that he has any effect on her at all.

* * *

Maka's entire physical fitness class is looking at him, awoken to the fact she's sprouted wings. Because Maka Albarn would rather sit next to the sideline and read, rather than play ball.

So, Soul thinks ruefully, there are some perks to being a chick. Even the mediocre sports skills he's gained through his many embarrassing schoolings at the hands of Kilik serve him. However, the sharp intake of breath by the guys watching his team shoot hoops leave him wondering if all guys are hardwired to be perverts- they should all be put in the trash. Only, this dawns on him _after_ his jump shot has swooshed through the net, not entirely used to the extra movement of his chest as he lands, because he hasn't exactly been bothering with bras.

"What?" he challenges them, flipping stray hairs out of his face. The red flush on their faces is priceless. How is it that he feel less anxiety as Maka? Maybe it's because she makes him feel bubbly, because _she is_ or, at least, he thinks she's bubbly?

Soul tries, and fails, to not dwell on it.

/

"Maka!" says Kid, exasperation coloring his tone, for at least the tenth time in the conversation. Soul doesn't care, he likes how her name sounds. Tries to remember how it sounds when he says it. "Jeezus, watch the skirt!"

Oh, but he dismisses that. He's thoroughly engrossed in this conversation with Kid. "But like what made you decide to go all Dark Elf?"

"Seriously?" Kid stares at him like he's unsure what's going on. "Since when have you played Skyrim, Maka?"

/

"Damn, Maks!" Black Star crows after Soul lands one of the more basic BMX tricks he used to do. "Look at'chu breaking out of your boring mold!"

"Shut up, dick," Soul shoots back, ignoring Star's shocked face. But the both of them keep at it while Kid looks on wistfully.

Having been around his own friend's pining but also unsure if he should step in or not, seeing as it's neither his body nor his place- something in Kid's eyes makes up his mind for him. His heart goes out to the studious boy who seems to only have eyes for this wild, oblivious, blue haired idiot. Soul screeches to a halt next to him, "You do realize he's into you, yeah?" Causing Black Star to nearly endo.

While Star tries to recover from the loss of air, Soul rides off, attempting a few other lower level tricks he used to do as a kid. Why had he ever quit?

A small, black part of his soul wonders if Blake's harboring an unrequited crush on this girl. And why an idea like that could possibly make him feel jealous when nothing has ever made him feel- not since that time so long ago. Still, something in his gut makes him think that Star might be receptive to Kid's feelings, in time.

/

Black Star, in some small way, reminds Soul of Wes. And when Blake asks him to help him with a project, Soul joins in willingly, even offering to saw up the abandoned logs. They work all afternoon.

Soul is finishing the last touches on their rough hewn table and stump chairs when Star shows up, holding Kid's eyes, surprising their oldest friend with his own cafe spot next to the Deathbucks vending machine.

It feels right, being in this group. The easy flow of conversation between the three friends. And, with a strange feeling, Soul finds he's glad Maka isn't in some sort of relationship. But, this also terrifies him because his feelings about her annoying perfectionist habits, how she tells him what he should and shouldn't be doing when he's in her body, have become less annoyed frustration and more like rueful affection. It's stupid that he feels so excited to relate this story to her.

That is…

… until he wakes up in his body.

/

His hand brushes the floor looking for his phone and the ringing alarm. It isn't there- it's stashed under the pillow, because that's what she does.

Her latest message: Got coffee with Liz. You've got a good thing going on with her. ;)

_The fuck is that supposed to mean?_ he fumes, staring at the message feeling like he's cheating. He didn't ask for this! Why is she meddling with his relationship status?

He furiously types a comment: [[quit ducking with my dating life!]] Now even more pissed, because he hadn't noticed the spelling error until after sending.

* * *

The next time Maka wakes as Soul she laughs at his petulant crankiness. She texts comments back: [[Why? Is someone starting to like _me? XD_]]

* * *

Soul's becoming intimately acquainted with the pounding of a particular vein in his forehead. _She can't be serious? Is she twelve?_ [[yeah well, you're more popular when I'm you!]] he scoffs, one part bravado, three parts biggest dick of all time. But, she's pushing his limits.

* * *

[[Oh ho ho, you wound me!]] Maka laughs, enjoying the banter. She hadn't realized this subject would make him so defensive.

That is, until she sees the next message. _[[What about you? don't see you dating people!]]_

How dare he! And now she's fuming, she's single…

* * *

Soul's grumpy old man face resurfaces. _I'm single…_

* * *

'_**CAUSE I WANT TO BE!**_ They both slam down their phones.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Soul feels his body coming to consciousness, not yet fully awake but no longer fully asleep. Feeling disoriented in the black void. Is he himself? Is he Maka? Does it matter? He's alive, somewhere in the universe, he surmises, and that's all that counts.

Breathing through his nose slowly, he tries to hold onto vestiges of the dream; the dream where a girl with green eyes asks him why he doesn't remember her. He knew her name a second ago and now he doesn't. He's left with something like desire spun by the moon, or whatever it is that governs the magic of night before the sun rises to wipe it all away.

He presses a palm into his groin. His eyes fly open. He's not in his body. Something like shame makes his face burn hot, because while he doesn't feel bad about jacking off (as rarely as he ever feels like it) he can't- _won't-_\- take such a liberty with _her _body.

Unfortunately, for his poor soul- her body- isn't so easily swayed. So he lays there, curled on his side, whimpering. A pillow pressed firmly into her abdomen, coming to terms with living through the female equivalent of blue balls not knowing what, if anything, might quell theprimal feeling he woke with.

"Thank Death, you're not groping yourself," Tsugumi's voice declares as the sliding door crashes open.

Soul's face is hot, beet red. His eyes go wide- he could have been hugging his chest for comfort instead of the fucking pillow. But, Tsugumi's voice cuts through his mental bitching, "Get ready. We're leaving!"

_Groaning, complaining, speaking- it all sounds better in her voice_, Soul thinks as he gets dressed, trying to be more careful about her hair so that the bun isn't as messy, but he just can't perfect it.

On his way to the dining room, he runs his fingers along the walls, a habit that annoyed his mother to no end during his childhood. But, no one here minds; it makes him feel more at home in this strange place than anywhere he's ever lived.

"Why are you wearing your uniform?" Tsugumi asks, her face scrunched up, assessing his choice of clothing.

"Uh," Soul mumbles, but even grandmother is looking at him like he's an idiot for forgetting today is _Saturday_.

/

The wind whips his face as they drive out to the location of Maka's family shrine. It is a large crater formed years ago by a meteorite that hit the desert hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years before the crater that formed the outer walls of Death City ever struck.

Even those walls grow small as Soul drives them down the small two lane highway. Grandmother doesn't seem to mind giving him directions, and Soul is grateful because walking would have been an insurmountable chore.

Overhead, the sky is a bright autumn blue unmarred by clouds. Soul watches the wind blowing through Maka's fingers as he holds her hand carefully outside of the window, while keeping an eye on the otherwise deserted road.

"Maka, Tsugumi," Grandmother begins, looking across the small little truck's bench seat to both girls. "Do you know what Musubi is?"

Soul defaults to, I'm driving therefore unable to answer anything, but Tsugumi shakes her head and it becomes clear that Granny wasn't waiting for an answer. Sneaking a peak, he sees the old woman looking out over the landscape thoughtfully.

"Musubi," she says, "is the old way of calling the local guardian god."

In the middle between them, Tsugumi giggles nervously.

"This word has profound meaning," the old woman continues. "Tying thread is Musubi. Connecting people is Musubi. The flow of time is Musubi. These are all the god's power," she says. "Even the braided cords that we create are the god's art and represent the flow of time itself."

From his place in the driver's seat, Soul listens carefully, soaking up the wisdom filled words from this incredible, wise woman.

"They, the threads, converge and take shape. They twist, tangle, sometimes unravel, and break, then connect again. Musubi- knotting," she says, looking at Soul for a long, uncomfortable moment, "that is time. And, that's why, even if words are lost, traditions should be handed down."

Soul nods, not entirely convinced, but he is intrigued.

The rest of the drive goes by in comfortable silence. Why had his family never brought him out to see the vastness of the desert? Had they ever ventured past the Grand Canyon? They lived moving from air conditioned space to air conditioned space, concert halls, museums, aquariums- but never out in the place where they decided to make their home.

There is a wild beauty out here that tugs at his heart. The extreme solace is somehow comforting rather than foreboding. Notes to an unfinished song rise unbidden, moving with him and the landscape, through this girl's extended fingers- it's a song that's been playing in his mind more often these days.

Soul pulls the little old truck into a compact dirt parking lot next to a small shed that sells water. He spots a few braided cords on a small shelf, but, for the most part, the place is empty except for the odd man sitting behind the counter with an equally odd screw in his head.

"Lady Kimura," he says, nodding to Grandmother. He gives a lollipop to Tsugumi, but when he turns to Soul, the latter feels a chill down his spine. _It's my imagination_, Soul thinks but doesn't feel comfortable confronting this stranger.

He exits the shop quickly to catch up with granny and Tsugumi, feeling uncomfortable with the gaze that follows him, completely unnerved by the squeaking sound of a screw turning through bone.

Momentarily blinded when he walks out of the dingy shop into the bright sun of the desert, it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. Soul finds Granny and Tsugumi at the edge of the crater overlooking the vastness of the body of their god. The edges fill most of his field of vision. It looks like a long, rocky way down to the bottom where there is a large tree ringed by a small stream. The basin collects all the water funneling it down to sustain the lone tree.

Soul takes the pack from Gran that holds the coffee, and more importantly, the sake Tsugumi had mentioned they were journeying to bring to the shrine in the first place. He doesn't really understand any of it, the cord braiding, the sake, or the shrine- but it's important to Maka and her family, so it's become important to him. It's in this moment that it hits him just how much he cares, not only about Maka but her family as well.

"Here, let me help you," he says, still unused to the cadence of his words in her voice and thinking again about how it would be to actually share a conversation with this girl he's growing to care about.

"Thank you, Maka," Gran says, leaning heavily on him. He's almost knocked off balance, because he hadn't thought such a petite woman could be so solidly made. But her granddaughter is the same as Maka, small but mighty.

Carefully they make their way down the steep sides of the crater. After a few minutes, Tsugumi takes the pack from Soul so he can focus on getting Gran down.

Time ticks on, sweat beads up on his neck, shoulders- between her breasts, making him awkwardly aware of them. _Can it Soul_, he chides himself.

They stop at the edge of the water that rings the center tree. Grandmother catches her breath, taking a drink of the coffee and cheekily telling the girls, "When a person drinks something, it bonds with their soul and that's Musubi!" They laugh, now cosmically bound to their coffee. "But," she goes on, face growing serious. "Beyond this point it is _kakuriyo_, the underworld."

_Kakuriyo. _The word brings him a deep sense of foreboding as he looks out over the dry landscape. The desert wind rippling through the sparse grass that grows there.

"Mhm," Gran hums. "So, in exchange for returning to this world, you must leave behind what is most important to you."

He's lost. Gran doesn't seem fazed by his blank face or lack of understanding. She smiles wide saying, "The kuchikami-sake."

"The kuchikami-sake," he repeats slowly.

"Yes," her smile crinkles her eyes, making them glitter in the waning daylight. "You'll offer it inside the god's body." He isn't entirely convinced, but he dutifully hoists her up onto his back once more to cross the shallow stream. "It's half of you."

His shoes squish the rest of the walk. Outside the mouth of a cave entrance that's hidden from view unless you know where to look, Tsugumi hands him his own ceramic flask of sake.

It feels weighty in his hands, or is it his soul- _H__alf of Maka…_

"Gran," Soul says carefully, "what happens if you _don't _give the god an offering?"

Maiko Kimura looks at him carefully before answering simply, "Simple, he takes what you hold most dear."

And Soul feels the hairs of Maka's neck raise.

/

The return walk after visiting the shrine feels somehow longer than the initial trek to the center did. In the parking lot, theirs is the only vehicle left. The sky to the west is burning in oranges and reds, the celestial drama playing out over the clouds that are building on the horizon.

Soul stares out over the vastness, over the distance they've covered. It is a breathtaking sight.

"Ooh," Tsugumi exclaims, softly holding the o, "kataware-doki."

That phrase! Soul thinks back to the first day, the initial body switch, but he can't remember it exactly. "Twilight, right?"

"Kataware-doki," Grandmother repeats slowly, looking dreamlike. "The time when the world blurs and one might encounter something extraordinary."

He suddenly feels so much older and heavier in this small body. Soul stands there watching the sun blink out on the horizon in a flash of light. Is he growing bigger? Is her body growing smaller- what's going on?

It's as if he's lucid dreaming, stuck in a black room with red and black checkered tile, and heavy curtains looking out of an ornate door into a scene, he isn't exactly a part of.

"Maka," Lady Kimura says, and then repeats with concern. "Maka?"

It feels as though he's hearing old gramophone music and that pulls him further into the room. He needs to get to the door. The door is shutting. Why is he just standing here?

Granny Kimura laughs. "Wake up Maka! You're dreaming."

The door slams shut. The room's black madness takes him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

When he wakes up, his eyes are burning; it's difficult to catch his breath. Cheeks wet with tears. But, why tears? A notification rings as he's brushing them away. It takes him a moment to locate his phone, stuffed under the pillows. His chest feels tight. The pain is real enough.

[[Hi! I'm looking forward to our date. Almost there. See you soon]]

The message from Liz is complete with a winky kissy face. _What is she talking about?_ It's too early for this. Soul feels sluggish as he thumbs through his phone trying to locate the correct day, still trying to wake up. _Shit- fuck!_ Sure enough Maka has flagged his calendar with a notice of a date with Liz. A date?!

What the hell is Maka getting at? He's frustrated that she's continued this idea of dating someone while being him- maybe this means- the pain of rejection hits him hard. If Maka wants a date with Liz, why would she ever want a date with _him?_

There's not enough time to call and cancel. If he doesn't get dressed soon he's going to miss whatever Maka has planned. But, would that be such a bad thing? He can't bring himself to that level of rudeness, not to Liz, and especially not to Maka for planning it- but he wishes, desperately wishes, it was anyone else going but him. Maybe they could just hang as friends? Maybe Maka was overzealous in calling it a 'date'? Guys and girls hang out without romantic feelings (or in his case, lack thereof) making things awkward, right?

Soul hastily pulls on blue jeans, his boots, some band tee, an old almost frayed navy hoodie, and tries to tamp down his wild hair. In the end he pulls it into a messy top knot, thinking of Maka the whole time, of running his fingers through her hair. The unkempt bun looks better on her, but it's his own cheesy way of remaining closer to her.

Grabs his bike keys and heads out of the apartment.

* * *

The morning is quiet.

Maka had had a weird dream. A new one, different from the comet and the boy. There was an odd ornate chair in a dark, dark room. Heavy drapes muted the sound of the piano playing the song she dimly remembers hearing in Soul's room. Or was it a gramophone? She was wearing a black dress and black heels, but the whole room gave her an uncomfortable feeling of being lost in limbo.

Maka stands in front of her mirror thinking of Soul. Initially waking disoriented, she's disappointed at not having switched with him for this particular day. _They must be on the date by now,_ she thinks, and is surprised by the lump forming in her throat. A small unbidden, oh, escapes her as she ties her hair into twin tails, wrapping her red cord around her head.

Her figure shimmers in the mirror and she's confused until the teardrops fall. Why is she crying? She doesn't feel attracted to the idea of romantic love- but Soul. It's harder to deny her growing attraction to the boy with the white hair, red eyes, and strange scar. And if she can't be with him, because he might not feel the same about her (and that thought hurts), then she wants him to be happy. She sighs, she loves him that much. His happiness means more to her than her own.

* * *

Soul parks Matilda in a shaded spot. What would it be like if he was meeting her? Frustrated by the idea of the impossible, he locks his helmet to the handlebars, making his way to the address that Maka had put in his planner.

"Soul."

At the sound of his name, his ears perk. The small sun seeking crowd parts to reveal Liz Thompson in a hat, her romper outfit revealing long legs on display, and a bright smile. The stylish outfit does nothing for him- if anything, it makes him more painfully aware that she's the wrong girl. He hasn't exactly recovered from the strange dream about the black room.

"Hey," he says, not fully present.

This time, the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You ready?" she asks. If he was paying more attention he would've seen the slight wrinkle of concern in her perfect eyebrows.

All he knows is he wants to run away. "Uh. Ya," he responds, automatic.

Liz pulls him along into an overcrowded glass elevator that overlooks the strip. Soul braces his forearm awkwardly on the glass over her head to keep himself from being pressed tightly against her body, his calves shaking from the exertion.

They go to the observation deck overlooking the sprawling city and he finds himself drawn to the southern skyline and to the mountains framing the desert in the distance.

They end up talking about jazz after watching a street performer. He hadn't known she liked that kind of music. If she senses his discomfort and anxiety, she's polite enough not to mention it. They decide on a place to eat, but once their food arrives Soul excuses himself to check on a notification that he had missed earlier.

[[Look, Soul, if for some reason you end up going on this date, have fun. I worked hard to plan it, I really wanted to go. I don't know if you date much (doesn't seem like it) but if not I've bookmarked a few links.]]

He sputters, splashing water on his face to cool the heat. He- dating- romance- it's not his thing. And yet, he catches himself wishing he could feel Maka's arms around his waist as wind tears through their hair on some lonely highway. Of starlit nights on blankets in nameless locations learning more about the girl who has not only been sharing his life but his… body.

The flushing of a nearby toilet brings him back to reality, effectively killing the blush that was starting.

And, he quickly thinks of the millions of people who touch the all you can eat buffet serving spoons without washing their hands to stop himself from further entertaining any more dangerous thoughts. Washes his hands a second time and goes out to finish his food with Liz.

Lunch goes okay, Liz is a skilled conversationalist and they end up mostly talking about work. Her dream of starting her own place. There are a few times he gives her blank looks; were those conversations she had with Maka? She just shakes her head, making excuses for him, and he fidgets with his red wristband. Soul can't help but feel abashed because he's misjudged her as just another pretty face.

At the museum, Liz makes her way to an art exhibition entitled _Nostalgia_. Soul can't deny that he's grateful when she gets caught up looking at one thing or another since it gives him time to try and collect his thoughts. To try and not bang his head against the wall, his social anxiety making him want to sleep for a century.

A particular photo gallery finally catches his eye. No one is around this exhibit so he has it to himself. Looking over the open expanse of the desert his heart feels heavy; it hurts in his chest. It's hard to pinpoint why he feels like this. The pictures are beautiful, vast sunsets over strange craters. One has a bright silver ring around a dark spot giving it the illusion of a vast wheel with a hub and silver spokes. It's a sunlit stream he realizes. Surrounding what looks like a massive tree, but with the sheer size of the crater everything looks like small points. It hurts his head looking at all the pictures of this place, somewhere out in the desert wilderness. It feels like staring at an incomplete piece of music. He is hyper aware of his brain trying to make connections but the searches are returning empty.

"Hey," Liz's voice startles him out of his reverie.

He looks up at her as if he's seeing her for the first time.

"You're like a different person today," she says softly. Not waiting for an answer she walks away from him.

Soul blinks for a few seconds, unable to remember what had attracted him to the pictures. Finally, he turns his back on the exhibit, only half searching for Liz. In the next room he spies her talking to a tall black haired Asian woman.

Unwilling to interrupt, he waits for Liz to finish her conversation. "Friend?" he asks, as they walk out into the late afternoon sky.

"Ah," Liz blinks, then smiles. "Yeah. She and I went to school. I hadn't seen her in a long time." That's all she offers and Soul doesn't pry.

They walk towards the park where he parked in silence, the minutes ticking by. Soul feels inept with most social norms and customs. Raised to frequent the posh circles of the Las Vegas music elite, he missed out learning to relate on a personal level. "Uh-" he tries, "do you have plans for dinner-"

Liz stops. He stops.

His heart jumps erratically when she turns to him. Something in her expression makes him feel very uneasy. "You," she starts, but then pauses, looking around, trying to focus her thoughts. "You used to have a crush on me," she comments softly, but doesn't wait for an answer. It isn't a question, just an observation delivered like bad news from a surgeon who's lost a patient. "But, you like someone else."

She's hurt. And, he sees it now, it's the same expression that haunts his mother's face.

He holds his wristband like a talisman. "There is-" he's unsure what there really is, but he responds as honestly as possible. Having learned long ago that while honesty hurts, lies leave lifelong scars, "someone, yes."

"Ah." Her mouth is a thin line when she nods. "Thank you. For this." She nods again firmly, this time for herself as she takes a deep breath. "I'll...see you at work, then."

Soul hums glumly at her retreating figure; he hates confrontation of any kind. He's left alone with his thoughts and his phone.

_What a fucking disaster. _He has to come clean and tell Maka. It can't wait for the next body switch.

He has a calendar notification from her: _The comet should be visible by the end of the date!_

A low, "what," escapes his lips, _is she talking about?_ he finishes silently. He looks up at the cloudless sunset, a very empty sky overhead.

Pulling up his contacts, he finds her name: Maka Albarn- he'd saved her contact information long ago.

Breathing is difficult. His pulse sounds and feels erratic in his ears, his thumb feels numb as it hovers over her name, his palms growing sweaty with alarming speed. Soul steels his nerves, holding his breath as he hits the call button before he can recall all the reasons why he shouldn't.

He's standing there holding the phone to his ear, anticipation warring anxiety. The ring tone fills his head.

* * *

The phone is ringing, followed by the vibration on the off beat, muffled by her pillow.

"Hey-" she says, breathless voice lilting. Waiting. "-Star. No." Maka looks out of her window, _Where did the day go?_ "I know, I just- didn't feel like it. Okay?"

Her mattress sighs as she re-adjusts her position, listening. "Oh. The Festival? The perigee- that's tonight. No... I'd forgotten."

Softer rustling from her sheets. "Yeah, I can meet you both there."

Maka clicks off her phone and faces the waning afternoon light.

/

"You think everything's okay?" Star asks Kid, debating whether or not to pull out his phone and call Maka again.

Taking a deep breath, Kid holds it before releasing slowly along with his words, "I don't know."

The whirring of Black Star's fidget spinner fills the void, each boy lost in thought.

"You sure it's not because you just want to see her in a _yukata_?" Kid hedges, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone.

Star looks up, startled, focusing on the golden eyes of the boy in front of him, but then his eyes focus behind Kid. "Holy shit," he exclaims, missing the fall of Kid's face.

Until Kid turns around and draws in a startled breath.

"What the fuck happened to your hair?" Star shouts.

Maka runs an uneasy hand up her arm, while fingering her now short bob. "Ah, hey guys."

"It's symmetrical," Kid assesses, recovering from his shock quicker than Star. "I like it."

/

Black Star hangs back with Kid as they follow Maka out to their agreed upon destination. "Do you think some punk broke her heart?" he asks.

"Why," Kid responds frustrated, "do guys associate short hair and heartbreak?" Cause if that's the case he, by rights, should have buzzed his hair already- years ago, really. "Maybe she wanted a change. Why? Are you going to go on an ass kicking rampage for her?" He's exasperated, and has clearly lost control of feelings he's been bottling for a long time.

Blake has stopped. "No," he says. "Maka can kick ass on her own. Are you okay, Az?"

Kid just stares at him- only two people (aside from his parents) know his given name is Azreal. "Uh."

Star crosses the distance between them, placing two hands on Kid's shoulders, the latter remaining frozen in place. "She's like my _sister_," he says. Bright blue eyes stare into ocher yellow, "I thought you knew that."

The comet tail is reflected in both pairs of eyes as Black Star's hands move down Kids arm's to end in their intertwined fingers. Time seems to stretch until it is no longer relevant, not when Star's lips are pressed so softly, hesitantly to Kid's.

/

Maka turns to go down the footpath, looking back to see her friends kissing she feels happy, even as a wave of loneliness threatens to drown her. They deserve this moment.

She turns back to the open expanse of the desert. Out here, away from the lights of the city, the sky is alight with the illuminated dust of the comet overhead

_It's so beautiful, _she thinks as she watches, the desert sounds alive around her.

Then the star splits.

The sight is hypnotic, like a mouse entranced by a snake. Maka stays rooted to the spot. Her body is alert to the danger her mind refuses to acknowledge. Time speeds up. The hairs of her arms raise while the stars fall around her. Overhead, the sky roils like a boiling pot, growing ever brighter.

Maka stands motionless, the angry sky reflected in the still green glass of her eyes.

There is no sound.

All around her the desert explodes.

The thin clouds evaporate. Fate hurtles to meet her, angry and red.

On her last breath is her only regret, "Soul".

* * *

The three most aggravating notes in musical history grate on Soul's nerves followed by the most annoying electronic voice feigning remorse: _We're sorry, but the number you have called is unavailable. _Followed by a cheery, _good-bye._

And that's it.

He stands there staring at the technology that has failed to produce the only voice he wants to hear. The phone feels somehow heavier in his hand than it had minutes before. How is that possible?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Admittedly, Soul had been angry about the date. But not _I-never-want-to-speak-with-you-again-please-stop-cosmically-switching-bodies-with-me_ angry. Maybe she needs time, but days later, he's trying to quell the rising sense of panic he feels with each morning he wakes up as himself.

It makes no sense. His heart aches for her, the sense of loss so profound it threatens to keep him in bed, under covers, away from all reality. Except, he can't do that to Wes, his friends, or his job. What's more troubling is that he knows, on a molecular level, Maka wouldn't want that either.

Now, instead of dreaming about the girl who asks for his name, he keeps dreaming of the black room. It's becoming harder to shake this growing sense of dread. What if she forgets him? He wants the opportunity to tell her that- that she's his best friend, that she's the one he wants to spend his time with, that he'll search for her no matter where she is…

/

In the quiet hours of the morning, a haunting melody fills the air of the apartment. Putting names to his feelings has always been difficult; music has always bridged that gap for him, allowing him an outlet for his emotions. An outlet for the things he's too afraid to voice out loud: hopes- fears. It all comes out, released through his fingertips on keys.

"It's been years, since I've heard you play," a quiet voice says, "I'd almost forgotten how incredible you are."

Wes' soft voice cuts through his musical train of thought, leaving Soul sitting ramrod straight on the bench of his piano. It's the one thing his father left him, earning him the disdain of their mother. He feels what's coming next, so he heads it off, shutting the fallboard carefully, "don't, Wes."

What he'd been working on has nothing to do with his father, because his father is present in his music, always. No, this has everything to do with Maka.

"Didn't mean to wake you, just couldn't sleep 's all," he says by way of apology as he slips by his older brother, who is still occupying the hallway opening.

Maybe it's his imagination, but he feels Wes' eyes following him until he closes the door to his room. He loves his brother- he does. It's just, Wes has never- _will never_ be the screw up Soul is. And the fact that he cares for him, took him in because their own mother couldn't bear to see him any longer, isn't lost on Soul. Wes's the only family he has left.

But, he stares out of his window trying to see past the horizon out to the unknown- _she's _touched his soul.

After the accident. After seeing what the aftermath did to his mother, who couldn't see past her own pain to understand he was right there with her- well, _fuck_, he'd thought, foolishly thought, that if he could just close himself off from the world, that if he didn't make an effort, love couldn't- _wouldn't_ find him and hurt him.

His fingers spin his red wristband aimlessly.

A long exhale later, Soul makes up his mind. _Fuck this shit_, he's going to find her. He hadn't asked to start switching places with her, or asked her to switch places with him, but they had, and she changed him. He has to find her. Has to tell her.

He pulls open his laptop to begin his search for the needle in a haystack.

/

Soul jots down notes in his leather journal, while simultaneously trying to avoid eye contact with Harvar. And, normally, that isn't difficult; the man wears sunglasses twenty-four/seven.

"You're planning something," the sunglasses say, matter of fact.

"Uh." Soul grits his teeth. "Maybe." He isn't going to give him more, because Havar is adept at weaseling out information even when one doesn't plan on sharing.

"Where's she from?"

This time Soul sets down the journal and carefully appraises Harvar who, he's shocked to see, has removed the sunglasses and is now squinting at him suspiciously.

"Did you meet her on Tinder?" he asks, without preamble. "Plenty-of-fish? Bumble?"

Words aren't forming. Where is Kilik, and does _he_ know Harvar isn't wearing his sunglasses? "What?" he finally chokes out.

The sunglasses are back. "You've been on your phone for weeks, non stop. You were acting strange, then relatively more normal, and now this," he finishes by waving a hand at Soul.

"He's right you know." Kilik sits down next to Harvar, the concern evident in his eyes.

All of which is making Soul feel very uncomfortable. "I have no idea what you all are talking about." Fingers spin his wristband more rapidly.

"Jacki told Harvar about your disastrous date with Liz," Kilik says, and Harvar just shrugs when Soul turns to stare at him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. _Of course she would,_ she doesn't like Soul much and she is friendly with Liz. It's just that Soul didn't know Harvar was close enough to his step-sister that she would tell him something like that.

Kilik continues, ignoring Soul's inner turmoil, "yeah, we thought...well- things seemed to be going well. You've been smiling, a lot-"

"So," Soul cuts him off, trying to make sense of this reverse Bechdel turn of events. "Liz told Jac there was someone else."

"No. Kim did- What?" Harvar says defensively. "She knows things!"

Soul shudders, yeah Kim has a way of looking too deeply at people almost like she can see their souls but not quite. Harvar's convinced she's a witch.

"So." Kilik's grin is getting wider. "You gonna go meet this girl, or what? What's her name, bro?"

They're really having this conversation? Soul's head is shaking of its own volition. He doesn't owe them anything. Their concern is warring with the excitement of finally understanding, but it's so complicated. "I, uh." And, to spare himself the bajillion questions they're itching to ask, he just launches into some overview of what's happened. "We, met... online. She lives out in the sticks, somewhere. I, just, think she lost service completely." Everything sounds so hollow and false in his ears. "So, I'm going."

"Need any company?" Harvar offers. Kilik nods.

"On a motorcycle?" Soul asks, skeptically, touched, but at the same time unwilling to ride tandem- well, with them. "Nah, I'm good."

Harvar looks away, shaking his head in embarrassment. "That's cool. Forgot you don't have a normal vehicle for road trips." The boy's lament this for a while. "So, you gonna ask Jac to cover your shifts?"

_Ah fuck_, he'd not really thought that far. "You think she'd mind?"

"You could bribe her with expensive shit," Kilik offers.

/

He purposely waits until the next weekend. Wes has a performance at Carnegie. It also lands near fall break, so this gives him a spare day without having the authorities called on him. Soul'd left a note:

_Wes,_

_Had to go out of town. Should be back before you. Harvar knows where I'm going._

_-Soul_

He's written Harvar's number and the restaurant number as well, just in case.

Jacqueline has been bribed with the French macarons she loves from Peridot Sweets and Kim presses a small sack into his hands, with a cryptic, "Here, eat this on the road."

Harvar looks at him, unreadable as ever behind the glasses. "Drive safe, man. Text us if you need anything."

Soul nods, tucking the paper sack into the saddlebag. He's an idiot for doing this. She hasn't asked him to come. But, he needs to know, for himself anyway. "Ya man, thanks," he says, zipping up his leather jacket. He's itching to get on the road, not only because his leather chaps are becoming slightly uncomfortable in the lingering vestiges of summertime heat, but because anticipation of seeing her is making him stupid.

"You're going to scare her," Harvar says, pointing at Soul's riding gear. "Make sure you at least pull that shit off your face and head before you say 'hello'."

Soul flips him a leather gloved bird. His bell rogue helmet and face shield are fucking cool, okay. He throttles his bike loudly, leaving his friends behind.

Out here, on the road, he doesn't feel anxiety. He feels free.

/

That is, until he breaks down.

He's been riding for hours, crossed into Arizona ages ago. Somewhere along Route 66, he started thinking it was impossible. Now regrets ever veering off course to check out the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, which is where he most likely picked up that fucking nail.

It's just his anxiety is going haywire. He's so unsure of where he's going. What will she say when he rolls into town? His face is steaming remembering examining his-her body. _Shit- fuck, fuck, no, _he groans. Maybe he shouldn't have, ya know, touched her breasts- how can he even face her?

In reality, he's lucky to have made it to the little nearly abandoned gas station lord knows where, many miles outside of Flagstaff. The only problem is, while they do have a mechanic, ordering parts is going to take time. Time he doesn't have. The way he sees it, he has two choices, order the tire from his dealer in Vegas and owe Harvar his life, or call up Wes and fill him in on everything that's been going on.

Three rings later, Harvar answers, "Giving up already?"

"No," Soul tries hard not to sound so pissed, "a nail destroyed my rear tire. Deliveries out here are non-existent." And, he had just replaced his tires this season, goddamnit.

"Fuck," Harvar replies, sounding neutral, "that sucks, man."

"Look," Soul begins; cutting to the chase will save the most time. "I was able to order a replacement, but, it's in Vegas, at the dealership." This is a bad idea and he knows it. "I can pay for your gas, I'm sorry I wouldn't ask but-"

"Don't worry about it," Harvar cuts him off, "yeah I can help," he says, then asks. "Where are you?"

"A random gas station outside of Flagstaff," Soul says. "I'll text you." The wave of relief he feels is genuine. "How soon do you think before you make it out here?"

When they work out the details, he settles in to wait it out.

/

Hours later a shiny black jeep pulls in next to Soul's bike. Soul watches in disbelief as Harvar exits the passenger side. This isn't Kilik's car.

The bell on the dusty storefront door rings merrily, completely at odds with Soul's mood which matches the flaming clouds in the ever darkening twilight as he exits the building.

"Hey Soul," Liz says, hopping down from behind the driver's side.

"Liz," Soul repeats back, trying to catch Harvar's eye and unable to because he's disappeared from view. His head is still shaking in disbelief when Harvar returns, rolling the replacement Soul had ordered.

"The parentals did not trust me driving out here," he says by way of hello and apology.

"Jacki's covering your shifts," Liz says smoothly. "So, I offered. Harvar said you might be walking into a con act?"

Maybe the looming darkness shields Liz from his bugging eyes, but Harvar leans against the jeep tearing open a Pocky pouch, unfazed.

Sighing, Soul rolls the tire to the garage door. "Harvar likes his conspiracy theories. I really appreciate it though." A tall man is leaning against the frame, waiting on Soul.

"That it?" he asks.

"Yeah," Soul says, doing his best not to stare at the screw that's protruding from the man's head, as he takes the wheel off his hands. There is an uneasy feeling in his gut, like he knows this guy from somewhere.

It gnaws at him while Harvar makes himself useful by helping him push Matilda to the tire changer, deep in the corner of the garage which resembles a lab more than a mechanic's shop.

"Marie's got supper inside, if you're hungry," the man says, blowing the smoke of a cigarette out towards the desert sky. Soul does not ask questions.

"Should only take about 45 mins, if that," he says as Soul reaches the garage door.

Inside, true to his word, is Marie who is serving up ramen in three deep bowls. "Oh, I'm so glad you had help," she says, her smile brightening the room. "I was worried. Please sit." She indicates the bar and the stools, and the three friends take up their respective places.

Not great with small talk, Soul ducks his head in silent thanks. This seems to be enough for the petite woman who barely stands above the raised bar, and Soul is surprised to see is very pregnant.

Judging by the near moans that escape Liz and Harvar, it must be really good. It is. Earlier in the day he kept to himself, but woke up to a cup of coffee sitting at the table in front of him next to a bowl with cream cups and a dispenser of sugar. It helped wash down the onigiri Kim was thoughtful enough to send. But this, this is warming his soul.

"What brings y'all out here?" Marie says, returning with water and slices of some home made pie.

Harvar has opened his mouth but Soul cuts him off- "I'm trying to, uh, there's a temple out here, in a crater?" He pauses, trying to formulate exactly what he's searching for. "There's a town nearby."

A small hand goes to Marie's chest. "A shinto temple?" she asks, her tone hesitant.

"Yeah," Soul says nodding. The other two are finishing their ramen.

"Ah," Marie says, eyes blinking rapidly, "Let me get Frank."

His fingers on the threads of his wristband are the only thing keeping his anxiety in check as Marie returns with Frank, who's wiping his hands on a mechanic's rag. "You're looking for Death City?" he asks, removing his glasses to clean those off as well.

"Yeah," Soul says, the name ringing correct in his memory. "Yeah, that's it."

"Soul." The ice in Liz's voice makes him turn to his side.

Harvar's sunglasses have come off. It's this more than anything that makes Soul feel the hairs on his arms raise. The concern, the emotion on Marie's face, the way Frank is holding her- make Soul feel like he's on the wrong side of a bad joke. He mouth's, _what_.

"Soul," Harvar says, quietly. "That was the town that got hit by the comet the night-" His friend fumbles, "the night you and your dad were in the accident."

Oh.

His dad.

The comet.

His hand is rubbing his chest, the scar. The accident. But- but that was three years ago.

/

The night wind bites at his face as he concentrates on the back lights of the small truck that leads them, the lights from Liz's jeep encasing him as he rides in the middle. His heart is hammering in his ears louder than the engine.

They end up turning on to an old abandoned lot, the parking lot to the high school. His heart jumps in his chest because _he remembers this._ He parks next to the truck and Liz pulls in next to him; from here, they overlook the open desert. Liz turns on her light bar illuminating a scene from a nightmare and his blood turns to ice.

No, no, no. This is some fucked up joke. This can't be the place. It fucking can't be!

"Soul." Liz walks up to him. "Are you okay?"

_No. _He wants to yell. _He's not okay!_ He wants to throw things. He stands stock still.

"Is it possible this is the wrong place?" Harvar offers quietly.

"No, I, she just- she texted me a few weeks ago." _Weeks_, he thinks. Pulls out his phone, opening his calendar notes. The light is bright in the darkness of the night. He blinks. The messages are glitching, he watches as they turn to symbols, zeros, then ones, and finally they disappear. The phone displays words Soul can't process. [[No calendar appointments]].

/

The Steins lead them to the next town over where they live among a handful of survivors, those that chose to stay. Marie offers them her spare room, and some crochet decorated couches. Harvar and Liz are grateful for the gesture and agree to stay on Soul's behalf. He hasn't said a word since the high school parking lot.

Marie brings them a cup of tea once they've settled into the small but welcoming sitting room. On the table are a few books. Liz picks up one, _The Book of Remembrance:_ it is a list of the names. The names of those who perished the day the stars fell. The day Soul's dad died. _Maybe,_ he finds himself thinking, _it would have been better if he would have died instead._

"Uh," Liz says, "Do you want to look?" Her face is twisted with pity and concern.

Soul takes the book, fingers trembling. There are so many names, but only a few catch his eye.

Tsugumi Harudori - 12

Maiko Kimura - 70

Azusa Yumi - 32

His fingers turn the page, his heart leaping to his throat.

Azrael Shibusen - 17

Blake Stark - 17

He turns back a few pages, eyes searching out of order.

Spirit Albarn - 45

Soul's heart skips a beat: **_Maka Albarn - 17_**

She was only seventeen. He gets up, the knot in his throat threatening to choke him. He needs air. He's in the desert and he's drowning.

/

Outside the air smells of ozone, charged and angry. The sky to the West is black ink, intermittent bursts of lightning illuminating the impending storm. Gusts of storm chilled air cool the desert temperatures, tossing his hair.

He sits on the front step of the Steins house, pressing shaking palms to his eyes, elbows balanced on knees that won't stop shaking. _She's- _He can't bring himself to accept it, his mind refuses. To think it would make it real. No, it isn't fair. What fucked up cosmic bullshit would do this to someone? What kind of a _god_ would dare…

"That's a braided cord, isn't it?" A voice muffled by smoke exhales behind him.

Startled, Soul whirls around. "What?"

"On your wrist." Frank, sitting backwards on an old squeaky office chair, rolls closer to Soul tapping the red wristband. "It's a braided cord, yes?"

Unnerved at having his personal space so violated, Soul has yet to formulate words.

A conversation plays out in his mind. Someone once telling him that the cords represent time itself. That it twists, tangles, and unravels-

He watches dumbfounded as Frank draws his cigarette to his lips, inhaling deep. "Uh," he tries, and instead settles for inhaling as much of the secondhand smoke as he can. Maybe it'll put his nerves at ease.

"The Kimura family were known for making those." Frank says. "I sold them at the shop near the temple." He's focused somewhere beyond the front porch, looking out at the night sky.

"Where?" Soul chokes.

Frank exhales a final time, stubbing out his cigarette into a tin can next to a potted yucca plant. "A few miles South of the town, on the same road as the school."

/

"Hey," Soul says, getting Liz and Harvar's attention. "I'm- I've gotta go," he mutters, as thunder rumbles in the distance. "There's something I've got to find. I'll see you back in Vegas."

Soul doesn't wait for them to say anything. He never took off his riding leathers or unpacked.

The door shuts, leaving Liz and Harvar staring at it, waiting for him to return and yell, "Gotcha!"

After a few minutes of silence, Liz says, "I liked him." She looks at the ceiling, studying it for a moment. "He'd always been so brash before. But, he was different recently and...I liked him."

Harvar nods, recalling the recent changes in his long-time friend. Something had happened.

"I think," Liz picks her words carefully, "I don't know what happened. But, I think he met someone and she changed him."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Soul feels trapped in a timeless void, motorcycle roaring beneath him, impending storm roaring around him. The wind buffets him as he drives as fast as he can towards the destination Stein had given him. And the warning still rings in his head, _Watch out for flash floods._

Out of the many, many stupid things he's done in his life, this might be right up there along with piercing his tongue to piss off his mom instead of, like, actually communicating with her. He could have waited for morning, or for the storm to pass- but he couldn't.

Not when the words kept going through his head, a wise voice asking: _Do you know what Musubi is?_

He remembers the feel of the wind through her fingertips.

_Musubi, the old way of calling the guardian god. _He's hanging all his hopes on a memory of dream. _Tying thread, connecting people, time, twisting, tangling, unraveling...breaking._

So, he's come. Because if there is even the smallest possibility of finding some way to connect- to resonate- with her one more time, it's worth it. And, he isn't going to let it pass.

He manages not to get lost and forty minutes, maybe a lifetime later he's pulling into the weed strewn lot of the tiny shop next to the open crater. Soul parks Matilda on the lee side of the building, stowing his helmet and face shield.

Lightning splits the Southern skies illuminating huge thunderheads; moments later thunder rumbles over the land. It isn't raining yet, and he's thankful, but the weather is shifting, making him feel uneasy. The crater opens up, yawning like the entrance to the underworld. But he is not afraid.

Slowly, he picks his way down the crater.

The night of the comet. It all plays out in his mind.

/

A strong hand clapped his back. "You played well, son."

His dad had always been supportive of his playing, not that Soul was anywhere near the level of the esteemed Edgar Evans. No, that was always Wes. Soul's only saving grace was that his brother had favored the violin, the apple of his mother's eye. Soul knew she loved him, probably, but there was just this connection between her and Wes that Soul would never breech. He didn't want to, he just- all he wanted was to know he wasn't the biggest burden to land on his mother's shoulders. Was that too much to ask?

"Not well enough," Soul muttered, fingers worming into a newly acquired red band on his wrist, another begrudging nod to Wes. His big brother had been the one who had managed to find a clasp the night before. _You should wear it like a good luck charm, especially if that girl is as cute as you say she is. _His brother had waggled his eyebrows and Soul had meant to throw it off right then and there, but-

_Soul? Don't you remember me? _There had been something in her eyes, something so sad and compelling. Freckles and expressive green eyes. Memories from a different lifetime.

"Son?" His father looked at him, hand stretched out to still his anxious fingers. "You played as well as you ever have. Whether you make it into Juilliard or not, I'm very proud of you.

Your talents are yours and yours alone. It isn't up to some school to decide if you're good enough or not," Edgar said. Soul remembers he had both hands on his shoulders, remembers that he still had to look up to meet his father's eyes. "Not every fourteen year old pianist is asked to audition."

A small smile crept onto Soul's face, but it wavered when the dark part in his heart whispered that Wes was invited to audition at the age of ten. His father must have read the same fear. "You know, I only got into Juilliard as an alternate and I was- eighteen." He makes a mock face of shock that finally makes Soul laugh.

It was late and the auditions ran long. Their normal food stop was busier than usual. The streets were crowded. People had signs; Welcome back Elvis! The Return of the King (of Pop)! Take me home! Presumably the last was for the aliens. Everyone was losing their minds about the comet. Drunk people in the streets. Drunk people dressed as Elvis. Drunk people dressed like Aliens making out with Elvis. It was madness.

They were headed home. Dad was waiting for the light to make a left hand turn.

"Wow, look at it Soul," Dad said, pointing to the tail of the comet visible above the lights of Vegas.

The light turned. Dad went.

They never had a chance.

"Dad, look, it's-" Soul watched as the comet split, and his world tore in two.

A truck ran the light.

He came to what felt like centuries later, ears ringing with tinnitus.

"Soul," a faint voice to his left. "Don't, don't forget-"

"Dad?!" _No, no, oh fuck, no._

"I love you, Soul."

/

Lightning cracks far above the mouth of the crater, illuminating the swollen stream. Soul stands at the edge, his heart beating erratically. He's thinking of something his father would would say to him often when he lamented shit happening. Edgar was fond of quoting Tolkien: "So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

Taking a breath, he plunges into the water, his feet hitting the soft stream bed, the water coming up just above his knees. A shiver goes through him, _kakuriyo_\- _the underworld._

The tree looms ahead in the darkness and he re-adjusts his path every few minutes. The lightning is happening more frequently, but he won't use his phone. He can't waste the remaining battery life.

Guided, half by memory and half by gut feeling, Soul, finally, finds the opening to the body of the god. He ducks in, just as thunder shakes the skies and the heavens open up. His phone illuminates the gloom as he checks his calendar app impulsively, [No calendar appointments].

He makes his way to the shrine carefully. _Oh,_ he sees the bottles illuminated by the light of his screen. _That's the one Tsugumi placed, and this one is Maka's_. It hadn't been that long ago for him- weeks at the most. Here, the bottles have accumulated three years worth of dust, but they are otherwise untouched. Their timelines- he thought they were happening concurrently, but they weren't in sync.

Very carefully, he breaks the seal on the ceramic flask, pouring the entire cap full. He can't discern an exact smell, maybe rice and something else. He sits down, cross legged in front of the small shrine. _Musubi, if time can really be turned back, _he thinks, _please- please, give me one last chance._

Visualizing her face, everything he feels for her, he tilts the cap back. Doesn't detect any particular taste, rice and that unknown something else- but, that's it. Nothing else. Time ticks on. Nothing's happened. His heart feels heavy in his scarred chest. It was a fool's errand after all.

Soul stands, his boot catches in the leather of his chaps, tripping him. It feels like it takes an eternity to fall, his hands fly up gripping his phone tightly, illuminating the ceiling of the cave.

There! On the ceiling is a painting of a comet! A splitting comet. He would know what that looked like; the image was burned into his memory on that night. And then his head hits the rock floor.

His body stops, but his soul doesn't.

Soul has the strange sensation of falling through emptiness into a black room where a gramophone is playing, a red cord tied to his wrist.

The sky shimmers with falling stars.

It's like he's standing on a gigantic map. A sparkling iridescent piece of star hits the continental southwest skipping like a stone through time.

Soul sees a red haired man holding a blond haired woman. They're wearing traditional shinto wedding attire. She's pregnant. A baby holds her finger with a chubby fist. "Your name is Maka," the woman whispers. A sharp sound of metal on metal and the cord is cut.

Soul feels disoriented, there is no up or down. He's going through time, Maka's lifetime. He feels as if he's underwater.

The red haired man is smiling. He holds his happy child. He holds his happy wife. They're in a chair- he's reading to a blonde, pigtailed Maka.

Maka's bigger now. "You're going to be a big sister, my love," says a pregnant mama. The man is smiling from ear to ear.

Mama dies in the hospital along with the baby. It's too much for Soul. A happy Maka asking her disheveled father, "When is mama and baby coming home, papa?"

The change is drastic in the man. His face seems hollow. He's drinking. There are women.

Maka hides outside of the room. Granny is angry. "Get your act together, you have a child!" The man can't see through his pain. Soul feels the anger he's harbored for his mother for years, now turned to compassion for Maka. "You're the caretaker of the shrine, the adopted son-in-law." Gran is furious.

"My wife is dead!" he yells, "I loved Marika, not the damned shrine." He storms off.

Maka holds her tiny body, sobs wracking her small form.

A small Maka holds her Gran's hand burying her mother.

Another funeral, Maka holds an even tinier Tsugumi.

Gran holding her granddaughter's tightly to her, face fierce. "Maka, Tsugumi, you will be with me from now on."

The room swirls in inky blackness. And he sees it. His handwriting in her notebook. Their exchanges. The switching.

He sees her wake. She's at her mirror. _They must be on the date by now,_ he hears her unspoken thought. She's crying.

"No!" Soul yells, "No, I didn't want to go." But, she can't hear him.

She's with her cousin, looking determined. "I'm going to Vegas, Tsugumi," Maka says, leaving a bewildered Tsugumi behind.

Soul spins, his only anchor the cord that is interweaving with him.

It's dark now.

"Grandma, could you do me a favor?" Scissors shine in the light of the room, severing golden strands. Maka sits stone faced as her hair is shorn off at the shoulders.

The comet is visible overhead, seemingly five times larger than it had looked from Vegas, even in the waning light of day. 

"No. Don't go!" Soul yells, panic fills his heart. "Please, Maka!"

Maka walks ahead of Star and Kid.

Soul's heart is racing frantically. "Maka! Don't stay there! Leave! Run!"

The stars are falling now, Soul is like a caged animal. "MAKA!"

Her lips move.

"MAKA!" He's screaming, hyperventilating. _Please, goddamnit no!_

The sky opens above, reflected in her green eyes.

He never hears it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The kick- the sensation of falling, or rather dying- wakes him. Soul bolts upright. "Jeezus- fuck," he wheezes. The beating of his heart is a crow flailing wildly in the body of a hummingbird.

His hands, his tiny Maka-sized hands, fly to his mouth. "I'm Maka again!"

The relief, along with a flood of other emotions, washes over him in a wave. He can't control the tears as his hands fly around his torso trying to crush her body with her own arms. It can't be real. He can't be this lucky. She's alive! He's crying uncontrollably, hands running all over her body, her face, her legs, holding her chest, all the while his sobs wrack her small frame.

He doesn't hear the door slide open, in fact it isn't until a small voice says, "You're freaking me out," that he sees her standing at Maka's open door. Tsugumi, hand on the open door frame, mouth agape, horror written on her small face.

Soul, losing all chill, cries out, "Tsugumi- little cousin!" completely forgetting himself as he tries to crawl to her and take her in his arms. _She's alive_ is the only thought he can process. (Granted, if he had the wherewithal he would have realized he looked like some deranged monster scrambling to devour a child.)

"OMG! Maka," Tsugumi squeaks, "get ahold of yourself!" she screams, slamming Maka's door shut, forcefully, in Soul's face. "_She's gone completely bonkers._" The young girl shudders as she walks away quickly, with as much dignity as possible.

"Granny," she yells from the door. "I'm going. Maka's gone crazy- I'm not waiting for her. Love you," she mutters as she goes.

/

Minutes later, Soul is dressed: long socks pulled high, shirt tucked neatly into his school skirt, necktie tied (terribly but it'll do), and hair in a messier man bun that resembles his own now, due to the new length. He fingers the soft strands, curious. What had caused her to do this?

In the great room, he stands with his hands on his hips as he stares down the news lady who is delivering, unbeknownst to her, a death ultimatum for the city. The perigee is tonight. He has less than twenty-four hours to find a way to save Maka and the rest of Death City.

"Good morning, Maka," Gran sing songs from the kitchen, entering behind Soul. He turns to look at her. "Oh!" she exclaims, her coffee and plate rattle on her tray. "You're not Maka, are you?"

He stares at her; she stares at him. Seconds tick by, precious seconds. "Granny! You knew?" Soul is baffled by this latest turn of events.

The old woman side eyes him suspiciously, and moves to set her breakfast tray on the low table. "Well, no," she finally says, with a sigh. "But, the way you've been acting lately triggered memories. Although, I have no idea whose life I was dreaming about anymore." She smiles while pouring her tea, and it looks like it costs her more than a bit of effort. "Treasure it. Dreams fade when you wake up. There were times when your mama, Marika, and I had similar experiences."

Soul is stunned to hear this. He's sat down next to her, eating his own breakfast. The picture of the comet splitting, the one painted on the ceiling of the shrine, fills his mind as he looks at all the portraits of the shinto shrine's priests and priestesses that line the wall. The ancestors of the Kimura family.

That's it! It's gotta be, he thinks. Maybe the power of the Kimura ancestors- the dreams- maybe they're all for what will happen tonight! His hands hit the table before he's aware of having thought it, startling Grandmother Kimura. "Granny, listen! The comet is going to split tonight, and it will strike Death City. Everyone's gonna die!"

/

Soul is pissed as he runs to school. Goddamnit Gran! he thinks, vehemently. Admittedly, he had been expecting a completely different response, but no, no Gran just responded rationally.

"_No one will believe that," _she said, all the while sipping her tea, looking politely bewildered after her initial shock.

Of all the most basic responses. _Fuck! I won't let anyone die,_ he thinks as he runs through the picturesque town, baking in the desert sun, to the school.

/

Upon entering the school, he makes a beeline to Star and Kid. "Hey," he says, breathless but determined. "We need to talk!" His man-bun has been jostled and there are flyaways in his face as he's trying to undo the hair tie.

"Maka." Kid looks the iconic picture of concern. "Calm down. What's going on?"

"Your _hair_!" Star shouts, "What the hell did you do to it?" He's clearly scandalized, and therefore very, very loud, drawing the attention of the three rows around them. He's looking at Soul like the latter murdered his best friend.

With the hair-tie finally undone, Soul blows golden bangs out of his face. "What?" he asks, teeth clenched over the hair tie, subconsciously trying to gather more than is actually there because he's accustomed to her hair being much longer. "Oh, yeah," he says lamely. "It was cooler before, but- it's hair- it'll grow. And, I like it." With that, he pulls it back up, out of his face, securing it tightly.

When Star opens his mouth to complain again, Soul loses it. "Can it, Star!" he says, stomping a combat booted foot. "Listen, that comet is falling tonight." He's jabbing a finger to the windows. "And, if we don't do something everyone's gonna die!"

There is a collective intake of breath from the class, but Soul's concern is for his friends. They both look shook as they stare at him, and he is beyond caring about the gawking of Maka's classmates- including the ones who don't like him or her. He's saving them all, damnit.

/

Not entirely thrilled, Kid grumbles to himself, counting prime numbers to calm his nerves as the clerk at Ye Holy Provisions dutifully scans each and every item he was tasked by Star and Maka to bring back to Star's garage. He had, obviously, drawn the short end of the stick. And he's trying his best not to let his resting bitch face fall into a grossed out cringe- because the tiny old man behind the counter is creepy, with a capital C.

"Are you playing hookey, young man?" he asks, face turned to the side, Kid notes, so that he can be leveled by a mismatched eye.

The utter lack of symmetry has Kid wanting to crawl into a hole and cry. These are the types of small town injustices he and Maka have been fighting their entire lives in Death City, one tiny convenience store- the literal holy grail for snacks. The only catch- the weird, unbearable proprietor. The man had once sat Star down to read a list of 1,000 restrictions about underage boys buying household cleaners because he was certain Star was up to no good and conspiring to build a bomb. He wasn't wrong, Kid concedes, but still- it was over the top, even for a man as eccentric as this old one.

When Kid finally attempts to respond, he's cut off by a flick of the man's cane- now dangerously close to his face.

"You know," the man continues in an ear grating, pompous voice, and Kid begins to multiply the prime numbers, trying desperately to ignore what's coming next. "My young chap." _Please don't let the register fail, _Kid prays fervently, as the voice cuts into his consciousness. "There was a time back in mother England…" The register rings with the total. Kid thanks Death he has enough cash to cover the cost without lamenting the loss of the change he will not collect. He snatches the plastic bag and breaks for the door. "...when I was entrusted with the most sacred of-"

The ringing of the fairy shaped bell of the door cuts off the speaker. Kid breathes in the hot dry air, glad to be free. His skateboard slaps down hard on the hot asphalt, and he slings the bag of goods over his shoulder, making his way back to his friends.

/

Soul is leaning over Star to get a better look at the homepage they've pulled up on Star's laptop. "Okay, what should we use to send out the warning?" he asks.

Blake leans away from him. Which is fair- he _is_ invading his space like a total bro. "Uh," Star mumbles, giving Soul a really strange look. "What about the emergency PA system?" he says, more or less to continue the conversation.

Soul fist bumps his shoulder with Maka's tiny hand. "Genius! Okay, how do we hack it?"

"Well," Star stalls while he types, searching and explaining as he goes. "With such an old analogue system as Death City's, it shouldn't be too hard to bypass." And in a few short minutes he's pulled up hacks to override ancient systems with simple programming.

"Fuck ya, Star!" Soul crows next to his ear. "This'll work." He's giddy, fucking giddy. This is going to save everyone. He holds up a hand for a clap and a fist bump. "You're awesome."

"Maka! What's with you?" Star says, holding him at arm's length with his hand on her forehead, expression clearly confused.

Soul's face scrunches as he takes in his friend's bewilderment. "Wait, are you embarrassed?"

"Bruh!" Star chokes, turning pink. "Nah-no."

"Ohmigod, you are!" Soul says, pouncing on this weakness. "You're embarrassed. What do you like have a crush on he-me?" he amends, trying to cover up the fact he about outed himself. "Look man, you're crushing on the wrong gu-person."

It is in this moment that the garage door bursts open, letting in Kid with a gust of hot dusty air. If possible, Star's face goes even more red. "Hey," Kid says, looking over his shoulder like he was making sure he wasn't followed. "Here're the goods." He hands over the bag.

"Hey," Star says, looking up from the open bag of teenage sustenance as Kid reaches in for a milk pudding. "Where's the change?"

Soul watches in amusement as Kid levels Star with the most withering glare he's ever witnessed. Granny Kimura would be proud.

"You cheap bastard," Kid says, opening up his milk pudding, carefully licking all the sweet goodness stuck to the foil before- Soul notes, watching with interest- beginning to eat the confection with precise, calculated spoonfuls going around the container slowly. "You wouldn't have stayed for the change, either!" All of this goes over Soul's head, and he's almost caught off guard when Kid turns to him, "So, what's the plan?"

This is when Soul and Star bump shoulders, wide, maniacal twin grins splitting their faces.

"I asked for the plan," Kid complains, muttering something about madness while trying to hide behind his pudding. "You two are scaring me."

They both talk excitedly over one another as they fill Kid in all the while devouring food, each one getting increasingly more loud to make themselves heard, effectively proving the Lombard Effect true.

Soul looks up to see Kid sputtering around a spoonful of milk pudding.

"A pipe bomb?" he chokes out, looking at them both, golden, ocher eyes wide with concern. "Star, you can't be serious!"

"Yup," Soul and Star respond as one, "at the city's electrical substation."

Then Star keeps going, "Hey, dad keeps going on about how I have to learn the family business." He's back to facing the computer, talking to it rather than at Soul and Kid. "Look, I don't care for electrical contracting, but learning about bombs was useful. Okay?"

"It's going to work out," Soul says. "And everyone will be safe when Kid hijacks the broadcast system-"

"Wait!" Kid screeches, "what do you mean hijacking the broadcast system?" He has a really bad feeling about this.

Soul cuts in, "Aren't you in the yearbook club, Kid?"

With his back still turned to the computer, Star is nodding and humming, affirming that Kid is while the boy is still looking dubious about this whole council of war thing they've got going on.

"Look," Soul says, as gently as possible, like he's speaking to Star's adopted cat and not Kid, "we're going to broadcast an evacuation signal from the school. That will be the rallying point, because it's outside of the disaster zone. You got this, Kid."

Resigned, and not entirely convinced, Kid says, "But, that's a crime," glumly to his empty pudding cup.

Soul sighs. Shit, this is something he'd wanted to avoid but he sees now that it's unavoidable. Steeling himself, he says, "I'll go talk to the mayor."

He's staring at the ceiling so he misses the looks that Black Star and Kid interchange. "Death City has to send the official evacuation warning." The rest of his breath whooshes past her lips, as he sits up looking at his friends. Their skepticism still hangs in the air. "Look, I'm his kid, I'll convince him."

Kid isn't convinced. "Maka, what if it's just a fantasy?"

Soul is still trying to come up with a response. Behind them come the sounds of keyboard clacking.

"No, no- Kid, look at this," says Blake, indicating a Google image of the topography of Death City. "Death City's outer walls were formed by a meteor strike almost 1200 years ago."

The drawings of the temple flash through Soul's mind's eye, "Star, you're a genius!"

"Actually, I prefer 'god'," the blue haired boy replies without skipping a beat, looking smug.

"Yeah, yeah," Soul scoffs, but they smack their fists and chest bump like men. Soul turns to Kid, a wild light in Maka's green eyes. "Kid, let's do this!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Soul had walked into her papa's office half an hour ago. He explained the whole situation- and here he stands, in her body, waiting. Waiting on Spirit Albarn to say something, anything.

The office air smells of stale cigarettes, booze, and something Soul can only label as feminine.

"Maka, angel," Spirit says, and the tone of it- the my precious, sweet, naive child tone of it- boils Soul's blood and makes him want to punch this creep in the face. "What are you going on about?"

He's had it. To hell with patiently explaining this, he's tried that angle. "We need to evacuate the town!" The vein that usually throbs in his forehead is now throbbing in hers, and it makes him feel ten times more angry. "The comet's gonna split and hit Death City!" he says, noting Spirit's surprise with mild satisfaction. "Hundreds of people will die!"

Spirit's face loses all trace of fatherly indulgence, and he finally looks his age.

_Good_, Soul thinks as he stares the man down.

"Maka," he says carefully, "how dare you make up such dangerous lies."

Soul is acutely aware of her fingernails digging into the soft skin of her palms, but he's seeing red. Standing here, across from her papa being told he's _lying_. He can almost see his mother's face.

...As a child he'd never lied, until the day Wes messed up his own violin.

It was something his big brother regretted to this day. Looking back, Soul can only imagine what sort of stress was placed on a ten year old violinist virtuoso. His big brother got zero opportunities to be an actual brother, let alone a kid. So, instead of wanting to go to master's lessons on his little brother's birthday, Wes did what any kid his age might have done. He broke his violin strings, and hid all known replacements. Unknown to Soul- or their mother.

The whole thing backfired with disastrous effects. Mother came to the only conclusion Wes had not anticipated; it was Soul who sabotaged his brother. Father was out of town at a performance and she'd forgotten it was Soul's birthday. He was turning five. He wanted a normal birthday like any other kid, new Pokemon trading cards and a cake to share with his mother and brother, he was sad his dad wasn't there, but that couldn't be helped...

Spirit is pacing, shaking his head. And, Soul can feel it, the man doesn't trust his child.

...Soul was hiding in his room. Mother was having a worse than usual anxiety attack. Wes was trying to tell her he couldn't go to lessons, because his violin was broken. Mother's yelling intensified. Soul hugged his bear tighter, a gift from dad. "We're going to be late, Wesley! What happened?"

"The string broke," his brother pleaded. "Mom, please, can I just skip this once-"

"That doesn't just happen, Wes!" she shouted, unwilling to listen.

Soul doesn't recall exactly what happened next, probably the case was taken from Wes. All he remembers is the, "Goddamnit, Soul!" that followed...

In his immediate present, Spirit continues, "This madness is from the Kimura family!"

...Soul hugged Bear tighter. When mother came in, she knelt before him. "Soul, did you cut Wes's violin strings?" She was whispering. Soul was scared.

"No, mommy," he said, with a small nervous smile, watching her eyes close and open, mouth pursed, angry. He tried to reach for her face, to comfort her. She rebuffed him.

"You're lying to me, Soul," she said, getting up, smoothing her pencil skirt. He wasn't...

Spirit goes on, "Maka, if you're serious, you're deranged- I don't believe you."

...The slap from his mother hurt less than her words. "I don't believe you, Soul."...

He breaks.

The room disappears. Everything he's learned about Maka in the last few weeks balls into raw emotion in his gut. He can't quantify the many reasons why he's fallen in love with her, but he knows beyond need of proof that she would never do anything to compromise her integrity or the safety of those she loves. And he knows- knows how much she loves her papa- understands, first hand, how much it hurts to simultaneously hate and love a parent. And he's incensed, livid that her papa would even _dare _call her a liar.

She will die! If this man doesn't believe him, she will die, and he'll let that happen over _his_ dead body. "You son of a **bitch**!" his hands are bunched in Spirit's shirt and tie, a combination of his fury and her strength, he's breathing too hard to make much sense, but if this man lets his daughter die, Soul will find him in the afterlife and kill him again.

"Maka-" There is real fear in the blue of her father's eyes when he figures it out. "No, who are you?"

/

The sun is in the early afternoon slide, and it feels like a noose slowly tightening around his neck.

He still hasn't recovered from his meeting with Spirit. All around him the town is setting up for the fall festival that is taking place tonight. He sees street vendors setting up booths- all of Death City's population will be out tonight. It feels like his heart is sinking.

Two small girls are walking his way, chattering excitedly about the festival. It's not something he would normally do, ever. But, his emotions are all over the place so he grabs one of the girls with light brown hair and a side ponytail. "Get out of here," he yells, to the point of shaking her. "Tell your friends, it's not safe!"

"Maka!" Tsugumi yells, running at him at full speed. "What the heck do you think you're doing?! Let her go!" She steps between him and the girl. "Anya, Meme," she says, dark twin-tails swinging as she looks at her friends scared faces, "I'm so sorry!" The girls scamper, holding hands, waving forlornly to their friend.

"Could Maka have persuaded everyone?" he mutters. _Could she have done this better? _Soul's hands hold his aching head, suddenly feeling so old. He looks up at Tsugumi who's regarding him like he's grown an extra head. He feels as though he has. "Tsugumi, take Gran- leave," he implores.

"What's with you, Maka?" The little girl stands her ground, scared but unshaken. "Yesterday you go to Vegas?" She's staring at him, shaking her head, she looks so hurt. He tries to reach out, but she turns, running after her friends.

_Vegas? _Why would Maka go to Vegas-

'Hey!" Blake's voice ricochets off the walls, derailing his train of thought. "How'd it go with your old man?" He and Kid are jogging up to him; Tsugumi has disappeared from view. _It's for the best,_ he thinks, but something is nagging at his memory. His eyes are drawn to the desert horizon.

_Vegas? She… went to Vegas. Why though? _His head hurts. The time bend is too much, but there's something... _Shit-fuck- there's no way. _And it hits him. If he's here... The paintings in the cave flood his memory; the trek down the crater walls, the shrine, the _kuchikami sake!_ Is **she **there?!

"Star!" He turns to the blue haired boy, "I need a fast bike!"

"Uh," Star mutters, "Um, I've got my dirt bike but you don't-"

"That's perfect!" Soul shouts. "At the garage!" he crows, and it comes out sounding prehistoric, remembering the dirt bike in the corner.

Star looks at him bewildered, but hums his affirmation, just the same, nodding slowly.

"Wait," Kid sputters, "what about the plan?"

Now that he knows where she's at, he's in a full run back to Star's garage. "Get it ready! I've got something I need to do!"

* * *

"Mmm," the sound rumbles her throat, like a giant purring cat or something more recently familiar…

Maka opens her eyes and she's staring, unfocused, at red on his wrist, his phone haphazardly next to it, battery dead. _What? I'm Soul again,_ she thinks. _But where is he?_

It's cold and dank. She sits up, her head swimming, long, well formed fingers examining his unruly but soft hair. She hisses when she comes across the tender sore spot on his head, where he must have hit it. Did he fall?

She looks around in the gloom. It's the shrine altar of her family's god. _What's he doing here? And, if he is...does that mean?_

She moves carefully, assessing his pain as she goes. Crouched, moving slowly, she makes her way to the light shining at the mouth of the cave.

Emerging, she blinks in the bright afternoon sun. His hand shields his eyes, as she turns around slowly searching for a landmark- it's been ages since she's been out here. At last, she catches sight of the gift shop roof and orients herself, walking in that direction, fighting the dizzy sensation in the back of her head.

There is more water than normal, in the swollen creek around the shrine tree. She looks down at his booted feet, at the water before her toes, at his reflection wearing her concern. There is something nagging at the back of her mind. Something she needs to do. What is it? It isn't coming to her.

The boots splash into the water marring the reflection as she crosses the water sluggishly.

It isn't until she gets to the other side that it hits her, she's crossed _kakuriyo. _The underworld. And, she didn't leave an offering-

The climb to the top of the crater leaves her breathless, with a pounding headache. The rim of the crater overlooks Death City- overlooked.

Maka stares out at the open desert.

The gift shop sits there, untouched. B- but, where is Death City? This- she must have come out on the wrong side of the crater? Right? That has to be it. This, this gaping hole in the landscape can't be- it just can't be all that's left. Can it?

A memory resurfaces.

She's standing out in the desert, looking up. The comet fills the sky, all around her it is festive.

Then- the comet splits. She's standing in her summer _yukata_, and the clouds roil up above. Fire rains down on her, on Star, on Kid, on the entire populous of Death City- the fine hairs on her arms are standing up straight. The hair on her neck.

"I", she breathes out, his lungs emptying of everything that makes them function, "died," she whispers to the desert skies, clutching his body tightly as the truth hits her.

* * *

_She's there!_ he thinks. The high pitched keening of Star's dirt bike fills his ears.

* * *

Maka hangs back as she and Tsugumi reach the lone bus station in Death City, staring down at her boots. This is something that had gone around her mind all night. Now that she's here, next to the ticket counter, she suddenly feels unsure of everything.

"Maka?" Tsugumi asks, her name a timid plea. "What's going on?"

_Good question_, Maka thinks, trying to process. She has minutes to make her choice, minutes to make her transaction, and minutes to board. She's just standing, though. Thinking.

Tears had fallen down her face, why though? Because he was on a date she herself meticulously planned with a girl Soul had told her he didn't want to go on a date with. No, Maka, takes a deep breath. He didn't say he didn't want to go on the date with Liz, he said he didn't want her changing his relationship status. But what did he mean?

"Hey," Tsugumi says, stepping into her line of vision. "Did you hear me?"

Blinking owlishly, Maka looks at her little cousin. Concern etches her face in unfamiliar lines. "What?" she asks, lamely.

"Are you ok-" she starts to ask.

"I'm going to Vegas," Maka cuts her off, making her decision.

"Wait," her little cousin is blinking, "what?"

"I've got a date," Maka mumbles. Reading the question on her cousin's face she says, "not my date. Look," she doesn't have time to explain this. "I'll be back home tonight, please, don't worry."

/

Tsugumi's confused face stays with her long after the bus has pulled away from the station. "I'll be back, I promise," she'd told her. The small girl had only nodded, looking forlorn from the platform. Maka tried to convince her not to stay, but had not succeeded.

The swaying of the bus nauseates her slightly, but she sips from the bottle of ginger tea she'd had the foresight to bring.

Her head rests tiredly against the slightly warm glass, her eyes overlook the desert. It's lonely- isolated. In her hands is her phone, on travel mode to conserve precious power. This is a bad idea. At every twist and turn of the road, she oscillates between being happy about going and wishing she would've gone to class instead.

She's going to freak him out. He's going to be angry. She has no idea what she's doing or where she's going. Will it be awkward? Will he be happy to see her?

There is no conceivable way for them to meet. She knows this. But, the idea- the hope- that they could- in her heart she feels, beyond a shadow of a doubt that, if they see each other, they'll know. They will know; that he is the one who has been inside of her; that she is the one that has been inside of him.

The city is big. Spread out.

Time passes fast and slow all at once.

Maka, soles aching and weary, stands in front of the fountains of the Bellagio. The afternoon sun is warm on her face, throwing her shadow far behind her. She has to leave soon or she'll miss the greyhound back to Death City.

She's a stupid, foolish girl. Her phone feels heavy in her hands. In her ears the dial tone rings endlessly, until three electronic notes indicate a female voice will pick up: _We're sorry you've reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service..._

Her heart falls along with the water. There is no movement from the fountains, nor from her. By the time the fountains start dancing again, her phone is packed away securely in her bag. With a heavy heart, she walks carefully towards the street car station she had checked her city map for earlier.

The streetcar is coming into its station and she's still a half block away. If she misses it, she'll miss her bus; the next one won't leave until the morning.

Maka watches the doors open and people bustle off the street car, jogging now. When the rush is over, the light illuminates a head of white, and she skids to a stop- could it be?

The streetcar announcer makes the last call, and Maka scrambles, trying to catch up with her heart. "Wait!" she screeches.

The doors are about to close, but a curious looking man blocks the door from shutting and she jumps on with a breathless, "thanks, you didn't have to," trying to convey, in a few words, how grateful she is that he did.

Up close he's big and his pallor is sickly, but he nods and mumbles something about not being the kind of man that would leave a girl stranded. She ducks her head in thanks and turns to find a place to stand in the crowded car.

Maka experiences the moment, the one that makes time stop, as she sees him. He is standing a person or two away from her, but she manages to squeeze in next to him, the world, the sounds- everything seems to melt away to white noise.

Soul.

Headphones cover his ears and he's hunched over something, maybe note cards. She stands there observing him for a minute.

* * *

_That day,_ he thinks, fighting the tears the wind is bringing to her eyes. He's an idiot for forgetting to protect her vision while recklessly driving Star's bike without a helmet, or any protective gear. _I was on the streetcar, studying for the recital._

Reality bites, in the form of an armadillo that picks a most unfortunate time to cross the empty dirt road.

"Fuck!" Soul squeals, his instincts kicking in, immediately gripping the clutch with his left hand, simultaneously slamming the throttle forward with his right, and mashing the rear brake with a combat boot, the rear tire of the bike breaking loose sliding to the side.

When he finally comes to a stop in a cloud of dirt, he stands there, uncomfortably straddling the bike with too short legs, chest heaving on the bike placard graffitied by their friend. He stands there a few minutes, catching his breath. Behind him the fucking armadillo finally crosses the road, oblivious of the near death experience Soul has just evaded.

_Maka_, he thinks, the word _shit _repeating through his head like a mantra. _That time, three years ago- it was before I ever knew you!_

* * *

"Soul," Maka asks, softly. She waits, trying to catch her breath before trying again a little more loudly. "Soul, do you remember me?"

When he does look up, her heart flips in her chest; it's startling to see his red eyes on her same level. Funny, she'd thought he would be taller.

"Huh?" his voice rumbles her chest curiously. "Oh, hey," his face starts turning pink, as his eyes search her face for recognition. "Uh, do I know you?"

"Ah," she falters. The streetcar lurches coming into the next station. Maka is feeling embarrassed as well. "S-sorry."

She stands there like an idiot just looking at him, trying to memorize his face, her heart racing in her chest. He's staring at her too. The streetcar lurches again, and it knocks her off balance right into him. He's flustered. He manages to keep hold of his notecards, which Maka observes are on a binder clip- her chest feels warm.

They realize at the same time why this is, and he removes the hand he'd thrown up to keep her from toppling from her chest. "Uh, shit- sorry- shit."

They're stuck in this strange time bubble, neither speaking, both growing steadily more red. When the car jostles them again they're prepared, but it goes by so fast. "Oh!" she exclaims, realizing it's her stop and she has to go.

He stands there swaying towards her direction, closer, but still so unsure.

She has to get off. The doors are opening. People are moving. Time is speeding up.

"Hey!" Soul blurts, face surprised by his boldness. "Hey, what's your name?"

Maka is frantic. Her hands have shot up to her hair, undoing the red cord that holds up her twin-tails. If anyone would have asked her why she did this, she couldn't have given a straight answer. It feels like instinct, her hand shooting out; the cord extends from her hand until his fingers close over his end of the strand. "Maka," she shouts, letting go. "My name is Maka!"

Tears run down her face as the afternoon sun blinds her. The doors are closed. He is gone.

* * *

He's kicked the bike on again. Driving more carefully, it isn't long before he's pulled off at the entrance of the small parking lot. _Maka_, his heart feels trapped in her chest. _That time- three years ago. You came. To Vegas. To see me!_

Fate is cruel. The auditions were the next day. _Dad and I were in the accident the day after._ His dad died, the day after the streetcar.

* * *

Maka flutters Soul's eyes open. _When had she fallen asleep?_ she wonders, staring at the sunset lighting up the western sky in a riot of golds and reds, the sun almost to the point of kissing the horizon. She's lost in this sight when his ears prick before she registers the sound.

* * *

"Maka!" he yells, her voice carrying the sound higher on the rapidly cooling desert air.

* * *

She's blinking rapidly, processing- and then she's running, "Soul!"

* * *

Soul skids to a stop, straining- listening. He hears a faint "Soul!" in his own voice. He starts running in that direction, around the rim of the crater.

"Maka!" he shouts, "You're here." _Aren't you? _His heart must be brave. "Inside my body?!"

* * *

She's frantic, running towards the sound of her voice. "Soul!" she yells again, "Soul, where are you?"

* * *

_Fuck! _He thinks, grinding her teeth. _It's Maka, I just- why can't I see her."_

* * *

_Soul!_ She's frustrated. _He's here, but I can't see-_

Maka keeps running until she feels a tug in her heart. She stops, looking around. Nothing, she sees nothing.

* * *

On the western rim of the crater, the sun is rapidly disappearing. Soul is frantic, sporadically running, but then, his boots skid to a halt. He can't perceive anything in the last rays of sun, but he feels something. "Maka," he whispers, "are you there?"

Maka reaches out…

Soul extends her hand…

The last rays of light glitter through their outstretched fingers. It winks out in a flash of green.

Maka blinks, looking out in the complete opposite direction from where she was originally facing. Someone is here, with her; her heart flutters wildly in her body. Her boots scuff on the desert dirt as she slowly turns around.

He can't believe it; he's back in his own body. He's scared to turn, but even more scared of what could happen if he doesn't. Slowly, he moves, breath catching in his lungs, "Maka," he whispers.

Her face is scrunched, fighting tears, "Soul," she says, turning it to a question before she asks, "It's really you?"

He can't answer before she's moving towards him, his own legs are carrying him to her, wrapping her body in his arms and pulling her close.

She's alive. He sighs relief into her still sun warmed hair. "I came to see you," he whispers, committing this moment to memory, the heat of her body pressed to his, the way she fits in his arms, the way her hands feel squeezing him back. "It wasn't easy." No it wasn't, and he'd do it again, "you're out in the middle of nowhere, ya know."

Maka startles in his arms and the comet flashes in her mind. "But, how's it possible, Soul," her breath catches, a lump rising unbidden in her throat, threatening to choke her "In that moment, I died-"

"I drank your kuchikami sake," he says, trying to cut her off. He wishes he could undo the knowledge of her dying, wishes he could lock it up, that he could bury it in some black room and throw away the key.

He does not anticipate her pushing out of his arms so forcefully and wonders what line he's crossed.

"You what?" Maka screeches, stepping away from him, her face flaming bright, bright pink. "You drank it?" her face is incredulous. "You didn't!" morphing into surprised anger. "Pervert!" she yells, and then her face goes white. "Omg, you touched my boobs!"

Soul chokes on the mess he's created. Shit! "H-how'd you know that?" he asks, face going scarlet and feeling so ashamed.

"Tsugumi," Maka shrieks, her arms wrapping around her chest protectively.

"Fuck- I'm so sorry," it comes out as a mere ghost of a whisper. "I couldn't help it," he says to the dirt. "Yeah, I did- a lot- they're awesome." He's ready to accept his death, if it's by her hands, he'll take it and be grateful.

"Wait, what?" she asks, blush backlighting those stardust freckles. "Really?"

"Sh-yeah," Soul says, wondering how she could even doubt that fact, and he's running his hands through his hair pushing it back, wishing the ground might swallow him whole.

Twilight, is bright enough to illuminate the cord tied around his arm. Maka approaches him, her face now drained of color as she reaches for his wrist. "Wait- is that?"

Soul's arm is on fire where her fingertips brush his skin. "This?" he asks, bringing his wrist down, so she doesn't have to strain to examine it.

Carefully, he undoes the clasp Wes had made for him. "Ah, yeah," he says, looking down to examine her face; he's so much taller now than he had been. "Why did you come see me before I knew you, Maka?" the question, just, comes out. "There's no way I could've known it was you," he whispers to her, the cord finally free in his hands until he pushes it into hers. "Here, I kept it for three years." He doesn't immediately remove his hands from hers, still staring at the red cord that joins them. "It was the only thing that kept me sane-" _after losing my dad_, he whispers_._ With a final squeeze of her fingers, he clears his throat. "You keep it now."

Maka looks up at his unreadable expression. "Mhm," she hums, tying it around her short hair, like a headband. "How's it look?"

"Nerdy," he responds at her innocent uncertainty

"What?" she asks, confused. Then retorts, "meanie!"

They both stand there, blushing, staring at each other until they burst into laughter.

Overhead the comet is now much brighter. "Maka, you've got things to do," he says, quickly explaining the plan to her. "Listen, you can do this. I know it's coming, but I believe in you."

He watches the tail reflected in her green eyes, sees the fear threatening to take her over. "Courage," he whispers to her, holding her shoulders tight, imploring her to understand him. "You've still got time."

"Of course!" she says.

Soul looks up, "Shit, kataware-doki is almost over." He's running out of time. Slapping his hands over his jacket, he finally locates the lone sharpie he'd packed. "Look, Maka, so we don't forget when we wake up." He walks up to her, deliberately taking her hand, and scrawls something on her palm quickly. "Let's write our names on each other. Here," he says, handing her the sharpie.

He watches her face split into a bright smile, a smile that will haunt him for the rest of forever as she takes the pen. Her hand holds his steady, he feels the sharpie pressed to his skin, and then sees the pen fall, in slow motion, clattering to the ground.

How long has he stood rooted to the spot, staring at the pen? The shock of it renders him useless. "Maka?" he whispers. This is a bad joke. "MAKA!" He holds his hand.

_I wanted to say it,_ he thinks. The moon is glowing brighter, "Wherever you are in the world, I'll find you!" he says it to the moon. "Your name is Maka!" he shouts. "It's okay, I won't forget!" he promises.

His heart is beating erratically in his chest. Maka. Maka! "Maka! Maka. MAKA, your name- is Maka," he whispers. "I know it. I won't forget. So, when I see you again, I won't have to ask for your name!" He shouts it, the lump in his throat choking his words. Choking him.

Soul bends down, grabbing the sharpie to write it down, and his hand shakes. He tries again. He, can't-

..._What happens if you don't leave a sacrifice? _An old woman's voice fills his mind, "_If you don't leave a sacrifice, he'll take what's most important to you"_…

_Fuck_, he thinks holding his head. "Agh! Why- why did I come here?"

His heart ticks off seconds, beating steadily, while he wills down his anxiety, trying to calm down. "I came here- to see her." There is no face, he feels as if there is a gaping hole in his heart. "To save her." He's crying, choking sobs. "I wanted her to be alive." He can't pull enough air into his lungs.

In the dying of the light, he cries out, voice thick with emotions. "She's someone dear to me, I don't want to forget. Please," he begs. "Please," he's desperate. "Please, don't let me forget," he whispers.

He sees an outline, he feels warmth, but, he can't remember anything more. Who is she? Who who who? "What's your name?!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

He's gone.

_Soul. Soul. Soul, _she repeats in her mind.

Just like that, the pen she'd been holding, the hand she'd tried to write on, Soul- gone. Maka blinks. The sun is long since set. Kataware-doki is over.

Overhead the comet sails on, its magnificent tail a riot of celestial colors. _How is she supposed to get back to Death City?_ Maka falters, skidding to a stop. Soul had mentioned coming out here on Star's dirt bike. She can't imagine driving such a thing even if Soul had made her body do that.

It's late too, Stein will probably be closing the shop- Stein!

Maka runs up to the shop. _Please Death, Please_ _let him still be here,_ she pleads to the desert.

/

She arrives at the small parking lot breathless, only to find Stein inspecting the bike with a curious glint to his glasses. "Maka," he says, by way of greeting.

"Franken," she replies. His stare is oscillating from her to the bike. "Uh- can you give me a ride back to Death City?" she asks. It comes out stream of consciousness fast. "And," she pauses, catching her breath, "can you help me get the bike back to Black Star- uh- Blake."

He stands there for a minute cranking the screw in his head as Maka grows impatient. "Please, Stein."

Without saying anything he picks up the dirt bike, placing it in the small bed of his dust covered Toyota truck. He opens the passenger door on his way to the driver's side.

Maka hesitates for a breath then gets in, going over the plan in her head. Soul said they were going to blow up the electrical substation. Such a thing could be viewed as an act of terrorism, Maka shudders. They have no choice- do they? They either become criminals or everyone in Death City dies. But how can she ask Stein to drop her off there without him suspecting her and Black Star afterwards? Her mind keeps repeating his name like a mantra.

"Maka," Stein says again.

She blinks as she registers him saying her name. "What?" she asks, lamely.

"I was asking where you needed me to go?" he repeats, staring at her.

Thinking, she finally responds, "Stark's garage."

Stein nods at the road, faintly illuminated by the dim headlights as Maka keeps an eye on the comet up above. "That wasn't you on the bike earlier," he says. There is no question.

"Ah," Maka falters. "Oh, turn here," she says, realizing where they're at. The garage comes into view. Star and Kid raise a hand to block the light from their eyes.

The truck pulls next to the overhead door and Stein leaves it idling as he pulls out the dirt bike.

"Maka?" Star says, racing over. He grabs her by the shoulders, nearly shaking her. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

Stein solemnly rolls the bike over to them. "Here," he says, handing the bike to Kid, who hovers uncertainly off to the side.

"Uh- thanks," Star says, pulling it into a question as he looks back and forth from a red faced Maka to a stone faced Stein.

The tall man turns back to his truck. He's opened the door before Maka wiggles from Star's grip. "Stein!" she yells, catching his attention and making him stop. "The comet is going to split, please, if you have anyone you care about- take them and get out."

There is a long uncomfortable moment where they're staring at each other until Star taps her back. "Maka, we have to go," he whispers. She concedes and allows him to pull her back. She stands there, holding Kid's and Star's hands as they watch Stein disappear around a corner.

Maka turns to her blue haired friend, "He said to say thanks for letting him take the bike."

"What?" His blue eyes narrow. "Who did?"

"Uh-me," she says, scratching an arm absentmindedly. "We should go," she says, eyes riveted to the celestial tail up above.

Kid speaks up, "You're certain that's going to break?"

It breaks Maka's heart seeing that comet reflected in his eyes, his face pinched with the same fear she's fighting. With a calmness she does not feel she stands before him, tugging his face down to hers with gentle hands, meeting his golden eyes. "Yes, Kid," she whispers. "I've seen it."

Star clears his throat. "Okay, well, let's do this, bitches-" He cringes from Maka's sharp glare. "-my dudes," he amends, with the greatest respect. Maka snorts, but then gets serious.

"Kid, we can do this!" Maka tells him.

/

"Awwwh shit," Star says as he brandishes the wire cutters, snapping off the lock to the substation gate while humming something that sounds suspiciously like _Smooth Criminal_. "We're like-"

She can tell he's trying to think of comparable crime duos.

"Johnny and Bodhi," he says.

Maka giggles, because Point Break is one of his favorite shows. "Yeah I don't think this fits, Star."

"Yeah you're right." He puts a shoulder to the gate, then turns back. "Thelma and Louise." He waggles his eyebrows. "Ugh," he sputters when she hits him with his duffle bag of tools- and explosives, she thinks belatedly, reminding herself to never do that again. "Hey now! Don't be jealous that I'm hot enough to be Thelma."

_Does that make Kid J.D?_ Maka wonders, but keeps mum.

"Ah! Bonnie and Clyde," Star says. Maka falters, but before she can say anything he cuts her train of thought. "You know, like if they were brother and sister..." He trails off awkwardly.

_Oh!_ "Oh," she says. They've arrived at a transformer where Star is using his pry bar to open the oil reserve. As he sets up the explosives next to the now leaking transformer, he looks up at her.

"I mean, we are, aren't we?" He's serious, she can tell because his brow is furrowed and she knows how much he hates not reading things correctly.

She's wrapped her arms around him, before she understands what she's doing. "Mhm," she hums in joyful affirmation. "We should be Thelma and Louise, ya know, cause then Kid can be J.D.," she finishes, pulling away.

He's brushing off her physical show of affection, trying to program his timer. "Mhm," he agrees absentmindedly. "Wait, what?" he says, sputtering, face turning a spectacular shade of crimson. "Yeah, he does have a thing for Brad Pitt- no, no this isn't' happening right now. We've got to blow this joint," he says, getting up, grabbing the bag and heading for the bike.

Maka tries not to feel so giddy.

/

She's hanging off the back of the dirt bike while Star puts some distance between them and the substation. They've stopped a mile from town, hopefully with enough distance to be safe from the incoming explosion. Star's on the phone with Kid.

Maka catches the tail end of Kid's, "You're serious?"

"Yes!" they both yell, Maka giving Star a look.

"-the generators will kick on once we blow the thing," he says, giving her the most patronizing look for having interrupted him. She is not fazed.

"Kid, make sure you repeat it as many times as it takes," she says loudly, crowding Star's personal bubble.

They hang up, Star's started the engine once more, and they're idling.

Maka sits there, impatient. "When do you think it's-"

"Soon," he says, cutting her off.

They feel the blast in their hearts and their eyes register the bright cloud of the explosion, before the sound rocks them both. "OH MY DEATH!" Maka screams over Star's much more colorful expletives.

In the distance the lights of Death City start winking out, the desert growing brighter, lit by the light of the moon reflected off the low wispy clouds and the omnipresent comet. "Wow," Star says, "look at it."

They're close enough to town now they can hear the emergency sirens start to go off. The people present for the Autumn Festival can be heard in the distance. This is when the public address system starts and Kid's voice rings out over all the chaos. "Warning! An explosion has occurred at Death City substation. Warning! Wildfires are possible. Please, for your safety, evacuate to the Death City High School-"

"They're going to be going nuts at papa's office," Maka says.

"I should drive you there," Star says, face grim, jaw set.

It's as she's humming her affirmation that she realizes something vital. "I can't remember his name!" People are crowding the streets and they've slowed down to a crawl, Star literally walking the bike, legs spread wide to keep their balance.

"The hell are you going on about, Maks?" he asks, frustrated with the situation at hand. Kid's warning blaring, people screaming, Maka clings to him, unsure of everything. "Look, you started all of this!" he yells, trying to turn to face her. "Forget that shit, we can't get everyone out without your dad. Go! Make him listen."

He's right, Maka knows he's right, but the realization- the loss of the name- hurts. She hauls herself off the bike and starts running.

Blake watches her for all of two seconds before he starts revving the two stroke engine to get attention, then hollers, putting those lungs to good use. "GET OUT!"

In the ensuing din, Death City Town Hall cuts through the ruckus. "Please remain calm, we have officials checking out the situation. Repeat, remain calm."

At the far end of the open plaza, Star's family appears. He looks around frantically to make sure Maka's gone.

"BLAKE!" his father bellows.

Star cringes, _Sorry Maks._ Overhead the sky flickers, he looks up. "Oh fuck!" he yells as his father's hand clamps down on his shoulder. "It's really splitting!"

* * *

All around them are lights glaring. The stars are long drowned out by the glitz and glam of Las Vegas billboards all proclaiming "_The End is Near! Repent!", "ELVIS is coming home!", _and Soul's personal favorite, "_Aliens, baby! Yeah!"_

He's trying to forget his abysmal audition. Dad is trying to cheer him up. "Wow, look at it, Soul."

"Dad, look, it's-" Soul starts to say as the comet splits.

They're sideswiped from the left. Dad never saw it coming.

* * *

Maka is running, her lungs burning as she goes. One or two houses have open doors and people are staring up at the sky. The background is filled by the surprised sounds of news anchors around the area speculating on the slim likelihood of residential areas being hit- not that far out in the desert- _Enjoy this amazing once in a lifetime event-_

None of it matters to her. Why? Why, why can't she remember his name- she doesn't want to forget. _Courage._

Her eyes are fixed on the comet splitting up above. Maka doesn't see the broken lip of the sidewalk that catches her toe and sends her flying.

She lands in a mess of limbs, face pressed to the still sun warmed concrete. Her chest is heaving, the strength to get up elusive, but she has to- for everyone. Slowly, she pushes her body up, blowing her bangs out of her face. It's when she raises her hand to brush away the stubborn hair that she sees it.

I love you, Maka.

It's written on her palm in bold sharpie. _Why?! _She wants to scream it, but it ends up choking her instead. He lied! He said he'd written his name. She shouldn't forget him, _please! Don't let me forget._ She's shaking, but the tears won't come. They can't, not now, not while she still has things to do. _Who are you? What's your name?_ She pleads with the darkness of her memory. A warm voice, his voice, repeats . "_Look, Maka, so we don't forget when we wake up."_ The warm pressure on her palm, the feeling of his voice in her chest, "_let's write our names on each other."_

"Stupid," she says aloud, chastising. "I can't remember your name with this…" she whispers, but her heart feels stronger.

/

"PAPA!" Maka bursts into her papa's office at city hall.

She faintly registers that Tsugumi and Grandmother are there. "Maka," Granny whispers.

Spirit looks angry, "Not you again!"

* * *

He remembers the sound of whining metal bending, breaking. A dream of a dream, no, the nightmare of reality. His dad died whispering, "I love you, Soul."

* * *

Time is the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

The clouds open up. It sounds like a screaming jet streaking through the night sky, on a predestined course of destruction that no one could have predicted. With the precision of a cruise missile, the comet kisses the tip of the Kimura Temple as Death City explodes all around.

* * *

Soul Hunter Evans wakes in the middle of the desert on the third anniversary of his father's passing. He sits up, cold with the dew fall, wondering. _What am I doing here?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

His red eyes flutter open, staring at the darkness of predawn on his ceiling. His phone vibrates somewhere on the floor next to him.

Where was he just now? Or a lifetime ago?

Soul presses his palms to his eyes, but there is no change in his vision; it's still just as dark as it was a moment ago. But, before that? He had been in the desert? Maybe at a crater? Somewhere special, he thinks.

This time, when he removes his hands, his room is visibly, more gray than black. Dawn approaches. He prefers twilight.

Dawn for him feels hollow, empty and void of all sense of life. Maybe it's because he's never felt the need to leave the desert- well not since he returned from the East coast, from Juilliard. He rolls out of bed and shuffles, walking dead style to the bathroom. He lives alone now.

It's a small, modest place, well off the Strip's beaten path. There are a few small families, but most of the population are young professionals. The best part, no one gives him grief about his piano playing.

Five years ago, he'd started playing again. He'd come home from the desert, sunburnt and feeling broken in ways he couldn't explain to anyone. He'd sat at his piano, lost in thought, unseeing. And then, the notes started pouring out of him. Rusty, at first, having avoided it for over three years, and then, it clicked.

Wes had long returned from New York, but Soul hadn't realized this until his brother joined in, violin crying out the pain he couldn't contextualize- his brother has always been gifted. It was Wes' way of comforting him. Perhaps, Soul wonders now, it's the only way he allows his brother to comfort him.

He finished out his senior year, auditioned once more. Got in. Got out. And, came home- to the desert.

He plays at a bluesy jazz club run by Liz Thompson and her younger sister Patty, aptly named The Thompson Sisters. But he also does funerals, bar mitzvahs, weddings, and his personal favorite- just playing out on the streets of Vegas. Music is important to him; it helped him give a voice to emotions he couldn't otherwise.

Still though, he feels incomplete, like he's always trying to find a way to stem the profound feeling of loss he wakes up to day in and day out.

At the sink in his bathroom he stares at his pale hair for a moment before tying it into a messy knot. It feels more normal this way. He rubs his left wrist absentmindedly, as if he were missing something, though he doesn't wear watches. And, like a man slowly losing his mind, Soul stares at his palm- waiting.

/

He is no stranger to ghosts these days. At the restaurant he used to work at- there's a blond waitress- too tall. At the grocery store in the checkout line- she's also blond- but her skin has no trace of freckles. He has an idea about freckles he can't place. And, even at his apartment- another blond, but he has no idea about this one. He's never seen her face and the way she wears her hair suggest she's very young. Therefore, not the person he searches for.

Soul pushes this out of his mind as he straddles his old motorcycle. He's meeting Kilik and Harvar at some Waffle House for breakfast. This has become his day to day life.

They sit at their regular table, Harvar nonchalantly fingering one of his boyfriend's locks while the breakfast spread arrives.

"Take a picture," Harvar quips, an inside joke from bygone years, "it'll last longer."

Soul hadn't realized he was so focused on the seemingly insignificant gesture. "Uh," he starts and fails to follow up with anything in coherent English. Feeling pissed for no good reason, red faced, he stares out at the brightness of the desert, something tugging at his mind.

"You okay?" Kilik asks.

Harvar's sunglasses turn to reflect a concerned Kilik, and Soul realizes that his ever failing emotional health has not gone unnoticed. "I'm-", _What?_ What is he, exactly? He's not okay. He's not fine. He's- fucked- "maintaining…" he trails off, unsure of what exactly that means.

"I was planning on taking the day," Harvar says. "If you didn't have plans- last night was profitable," he adds as humbly as a champion world series poker player can.

Harvar upset his parent's plan for him to attend university, dropping out at the exact age of 21 in favor of putting his best assets to work- sunglasses, A++ poker face, and serious math statistics skills. Taking the remainder of his college trust fund, he doubled it in less than a year.

Kilik, on the other hand, did opt to go to business school and is now managing a steadily growing investment portfolio. He also manages Soul's own modest trust, which grows due to the apathy of its holder living well below his means.

Soul shakes his head. "Nah man. I have to work tonight."

"Really," Harvar says, the question hangs.

Soul shakes his head, "Yeah?" He's spared the need to further elaborate because his phone goes off with a notification. "Forget it, I'm fine. If it makes you feel better stop by the club tonight." He doesn't wait for an answer, donning his leather jacket and throwing down a few twenties, more than enough to cover their bill.

/

His plans to go to the bar and play piano, alone, are thwarted when Liz walks in. Doesn't anyone respect his right to be alone anymore?

She doesn't say anything either, just sits while he plays. Even after he stops, they sit there in the silence together. She had texted him earlier asking if he wanted to go to lunch, but he hadn't responded. Figured that was a clear enough no. He should've known better.

Liz gives him five more minutes before she tosses his jacket at him. It's after one. "Here, we're going to get tacos," she says.

He doesn't bother arguing, figuring it's better than being lectured. She means well, he knows, but he's tired. He's always tired these days.

She holds the door open for him, and he waits on the sidewalk while she locks up. When she's set the alarm, she threads her arm through his, resting her wedding band cladded hand over his bicep like they're some old married couple. They're not.

"Why're you really here, Liz?" he asks. She never shows up before five.

"What, can't a girl with a hot wife take an old friend out to lunch?" she says, voice overbright trying to hide her nerves.

He doesn't say anything and lets her guide him to her favorite food truck. There are any number of ways she could have worded that, but she brought up Tsubaki, who probably has talked to Wes since they both play for the Las Vegas Philharmonic. Which doesn't explain why everyone is acting weird.

"It's been eight years, Soul," Liz says softly, a few minutes into eating their food. She's sitting across from him, so he can't avoid the concerned blue eyes that look at him closely. He doesn't say anything.

He hasn't forgotten. He just- he wants to live the day like it hadn't completely changed absolutely everything in his world.

"Do you remember going out there?" she asks softly, as if they were discussing some normal trip.

Soul opts to nod non-committally while trying to chew fajitas that have now turned to glue in his mouth.

"I can't believe that's already been five years," she talks, filling the void.

"Time flies," he mumbles, frustrated. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do. Harvar and Kilik were doing the same thing this morning." He might feel a little bad, because he can see her visibly recoil from his now loose tongue. "Hell, even Wes- he talked to Tsu didn't he?"

Her small nod is confirmation enough.

"I'm." It doesn't feel right lying to his friends, not when they clearly already know. He gets that they want him to stop hurting. He would, fuck, he would too in a heartbeat, it's just that his head is filled with desert landscapes and he _can't_. He doesn't know how, not yet. "Dealing," he finishes.

It isn't until the napkin is on her face that he realizes he's made her cry. "Liz-" he's at a loss. "-I'm sorry."

They sit there. Awkwardly. Liz blows her nose, but doesn't say anything. "I'm sorry," he says again. "Look, I woke up in the middle of the desert on the rim of some fucking crater. I drove my mother crazy obsessing about Death City. I deflected everything about the car accident onto that one incident."

She's just sitting there, shredding the napkin, waiting.

"I don't know," he sighs. "Maybe I was just envious?"

"Envious?" Liz asks, failing to comprehend her friend.

"Yeah, I lost everything." Soul sits there. He was relieved. He realizes this now, but he sits there scrubbing his face. "Ugh, can you believe it?" he barks out a strange laugh that's part choking sob. "They were doing city wide emergency drills when the substation exploded. They evacuated everyone, not a single person died in that incident-" _in that town at least_, he finishes his thought. The idea that there's a particular person he didn't want to die presses on his soul. He'd always assumed it was Dad, wasn't it?

A well manicured hand crosses the expanse of the table, squeezing his arm. "Soul, you'll make it through," she says softly.

He sits there, staring at his palm, wishing he felt as sure.

* * *

Building implosions in Vegas don't just mean something new is coming, they mark a special occasion. Out with the old, in with the new. And, it better come with the biggest bang!

After their initial demolition job, they were hooked. The comet may have played its own part in the formation of their future careers, but the night the comet fell was the day the Death City trio realized their calling: structural demolition.

Maka stands in front of her ideum drafting table, zooming in on her revit model, making notes on her handheld tablet, double checking that the digital drafting table is catching the changes in real time.

"Brain," says Black Star, by way of hello. "How's it looking?"

Eyes narrowed, Maka stands stone faced as she finishes up her adjustments. "Just, about, ready," she says, halting between each word. "There. That should be it." She looks up and smiles brilliantly at her oldest friend. "I'm ready to run it. Want to get Kid?"

Star gives an odd shake of his head. "Or not," she says, giving him side eye.

Normally, Kid is the one that supervises the explosion simulations to make sure that they occur in the most precise manner. If the explosions occur symmetrically- that is an added bonus for all.

Maka is the technical brains of the operation. The complete and utter annihilation of the Kimura Temple gave her the freedom she thought she had been searching for her entire life in Death City. However, losing an entire city in such a way, she realized that, in some cases, destruction could pave the way for new beginnings.

After the dust settled on Death City, after the insurance monies were paid out, after her father was left with no choice but to become the papa he should have always been- they moved to the city. Blake left his family and was taken in by Kid's family, who also moved to Vegas. They finished out their senior year and then enrolled at the California Institute of Technology, Kid attended USC, and they split the difference living in a two bedroom apartment to save money.

Black Star made sure they got the strangest looks wherever they went, which ensured that Maka was left alone. Just how she wanted to be. Except when she stared at her hand for hours on end. There were nights the boys just held her while she cried.

She knows there is someone who loved her- and that's all that matters- but it hurts.

Spirit, Granny, and Tsugumi stayed behind in Vegas, where they found a modest little apartment above a shop for lease. Gran opened up a liquor store that specializes in Sake. The prodigal son-in-law helps to manage it. Tsugumi had become fond of the idea of selling her "Young Virgin Sake" and started a micro brewery. Soon she'll be attending university to major in chemistry and food science.

Black Star, of course, is the man behind the explosions. Finding something that a) interested him, and b) made him the absolute star- not only focused his wild energy, but landed him top of his class- much to Maka's annoyance and surprise. Their company was known for their flashy light shows leading up to the big finale, lots of explosions followed by a huge outdated structure diminished to a pile of rubble and ash with absolute precision.

Kid manages the company, but they do almost everything together. That's the way they've always been.

"Look," Star says, eyeing the door suspiciously and making Maka feel uneasy. "I asked him to go get coffee."

"W-what, why?" Maka stares at the Red Bull firmly in his hand. "What did you do, Blake!" she screeches at him. The only time Blake acts funny is if he's hiding something.

"I." He scratches at his neck, averting his eyes rapidly from the tablet and the plans displayed on the table.

Maka turns on him, "What did you do to my program? I swear to Death if you-"

His hand is clamped to her mouth. "Shhhh-ut it!" he whispers as he lets her go. "I changed up some of the light sequencing, okay? I need to show you to make sure it works."

Maka huffs, handing over the tablet. This job is to take place at 6 o'clock pm the following Friday, which happens to coincide with Kid's birthday _and _Halloween. "Okay, show me then," she grumbles. It's not unheard of for them to do thematic light shows.

He cues up the sequence and they watch it unfold on the screen together.

/

Maka shuffles up the stairs of her apartment, tired, soul weary. If she's being honest, she's known the day would come and she's happy. It's just, she's feeling lost. Her heart lives in her hand these days, all these many years really.

She's paused on the landing; it's quiet, the concrete of the building radiating the little heat it's trapped through the day, making the rapidly cooling evening easier to bear.

In the distance she hears it, a piano.

_They're playing! _She thinks, surprised at the excitement she feels.

Her self pity pops like an iridescent bubble. There have been very few evenings she's made it back in time to hear this particular person play. Maka checks the hour on her phone. There's nothing waiting for her in her apartment, so she leans over the balcony, listening. Which apartment is the music coming from, she tries to guess.

She ends up getting lost in the song. It isn't until the last soft notes are fading that the chest rumbling sound of a motorcycle startles her back into consciousness. What would it be like if this person played a particular piano song- a song she can't recall the name of.

Maka steps away from the railing, trudging up the last flight of stairs to her apartment. She loves it here. Her little one bedroom faces Southeast and sometimes she pretends she can see home beyond the horizon.

* * *

On a rare day off in December, Soul finds himself at the local Deathbucks a few blocks from the apartment. Sometimes, he comes here to write music. He's given up trying to reason why the loud, normally raucous place with its power pop franchise music is conducive to music writing, but it just is.

Except, tonight it's not. The place is uncharacteristically quiet. And perhaps it's a combination of that, the weather, and the three- he counts the cups, shit- three cappuccinos he's had, but he's feeling trapped. His foot shaking his leg, he's sure more from anxiety than actual caffeine consumption.

He's also trying not to stare like a creeper at the couple that had walked in ten minutes ago. Soul has this uncomfortable sensation in the back of his mind that he knows them from somewhere, but his memory is hazy.

Parts of their conversation keep floating to him in the emptiness of the cafe. Maybe they're regulars and that's why he feels he knows them. He shakes his head, trying to refocus on the music.

"...Star..." a man says.

Soul sit up, like he's been tapped on a shoulder. The darkness outside reflects the couple more clearly than Soul had initially thought, and the man in question has bright blue hair. _It can't be…_

"...What about a Shinto ceremony?" the man in a black suit continues, Soul stares at the white stripes in his hair. "They don't care if we're gay, do they?"

"Really?" his companion remarks. "Vegas chapels work too, Kid," he says, then with a grin. "I bet we could find a symmetrical one."

His companion's face lights up, "Yeah?" he asks. Soul is still trying to work out why they seem so familiar. "Will you get your nipples pierced before the wedding?"

Soul sputters into his coffee, bits of foam flying, wishing he hadn't forgotten his headphones and trying not to see the blue haired dude going for the guy's neck. One would think that given that angle his next words would've been muffled but the damned acoustics of the cafe don't do shit.

"Only if you get that lightsaber we talked about." After this is there a ruckus of commotion as the two get up donning jackets and exit holding hands.

/

Snow, actual fucking snow starts falling on him as he turns into the entrance of his apartment complex. A girl starts to cross the street from the mail area; he almost hadn't seen her but for the huge umbrella. She's small in stature, but he dutifully stops even though his ears are starting to prickle from the cold and his hands are becoming numb in his gloves.

He still manages to startle her, and he sees the headphone wires only after she turns directly at his bright headlight which illuminates her golden hair and surprised face. The bike is the only light source and, with the falling snow pellets, it's hard to make out much, but the girl smiles and hurries on. It's only after that he realizes that her hair was tied in pigtails, or had he made that up?

* * *

It's after Christmas when Maka makes up her mind to find the person who plays the piano.

She's been wracking her brain to remember the song she wants to hear. It's as she's walking home from getting the mail that her classical music station starts playing a piece. Preoccupied with the music she nearly gets herself run over.

Snow is starting to fall, and she can't see who has stopped for her, except- the familiar chest rumbling motor growl makes something click. This _is _the song, she's sure of it. Is this the motorcycle guy that plays the piano? Maka can't say, blinded by the light, all she can do is smile and get out of the way quickly.

There's no way she's going to cross the courtyard to attempt some Nancy Drew ambush or poke around.

The piano player lives across the way, so maybe fate will help them cross paths- but then what? What's she going to say? 'Hey, I'd like to hear this song, could you play it?" No! She isn't going to go into the details of why she wants to hear this particular song with a stranger.

So, she's given up. Until a few weeks later…

There's a man with strange hair and glasses complaining loudly about his inconsiderate neighbor in unit 204B playing the piano at all hours of the night.

The very professional complex manager assures her distraught tenant that there's nothing that can be done. The tenant in question is an outstanding member of the community and follows the noise restriction guidelines. The man storms out in a huff, leaving the woman to adjust her wire frame glasses over her icy blue stare.

"He was upset," Maka offers.

The blue eyes turn to her, "Yes, he was." Followed by a bright smile. "And how may I help you, Miss Albarn?"

* * *

On the last Saturday in January, a folded piece of paper flits in from under the front door and flutters to the floor of the small foyer.

Soul stares at it, the water of the kitchen sink filling his ears with white noise. When reason returns, he shuts off the water. Drying his hands on his pants as he goes, Soul picks it up and opens it.

The writing is bold and flowing, musical almost. It reads: A humble request to the pianist: Liebestraum No. 3 in A flat.

That's it. Nothing else. No time, no name, just a _humble_ request…

Dad's song.

Opening the door, he peeks out into the corridor but there is no one.

Of course he's already over-thinking this as he walks over to the piano.

The desert is still, biding it's time until Spring, and it still gets cold at night. And yet, he opens the french doors in an attempt to make it easier for his unnamed audience to listen, something about this anonymous request resonating with him.

Sitting at the piano, he adjusts himself until his posture is that of a musician, not the sulky beast he normally is. Resting his hands, feeling the keys under the pads of his fingertips for a minute, he takes a deep breath and begins. A single solitary note is then followed by a series of arpeggios.

This was Edgar's song, a song he played for his mother. This song evokes so many different feelings in him, almost like memories of a previous lifetime. One where Dad lived. One where mom's mental health never declined. One where he and Wes lived the happy sitcom version of their lives.

Going into the second movement is easier for him, it's a little darker- it loses the clarity of the initial melody line as it becomes more dreamy. His hands strike the accidentals, making him tense as he works his way to the first cadenza, sweeping up only to come back down, almost like entering an alternate reality.

He hits his stride going into the main theme, this time in the key of B. Thinking of how dad loved how it clashes, the unnatural key change from A flat, it thrills him as he gets more agitated with the piece modulating from the key of B to C he hits the climax of the song, the part that really speaks to him as he crashes through several key changes. He's always loved this part full of pain and something suspiciously like hope.

And, his fingers nearly falter, he remembers stardust freckles before his botched first audition.

The thought dissipates as he comes down from his high following the second credenza. His heart is heavy, melancholic as he returns to A flat to play out the resolution. He heaves an unconscious sigh as he slowly goes into the coda, his apathy soothed by the dreamlike calm of the end of this ride.

As the final notes fade away, he hears it: applause. He sits there listening to the single pair of hands clapping, then he strides to the balcony and closes the doors, latching them shut.

/

It's April, and more pressingly, Soul has an audition later this morning. Rubbing his wrist, he lays in bed, staring at his palm.

* * *

Maka wakes up wondering if the feeling of searching for someone will ever go away. The pianist playing the song was a mistake, she feels, because now she can't get it out of her head. Their interpretation of the song had been so different from the recordings she had heard, it was filled with so much more emotion.

It's been months and it still haunts her. But, they've got a new contract they're negotiating this week, she needs to focus.

Maka goes about her morning routine, getting ready. At the last minute she decides to stop by Deathbucks since there's one close to their downtown office.

The light turns and she starts to walk, becoming aware of the chest rumbling bright orange motorcycle at the light. Something about the rider draws her in, but he's wearing a helmet with a striking face shield. It isn't until the car starts honking at her that Maka recognizes she's stopped walking altogether.

It's in that moment that the rider looks up and she locks eyes with him. However, the car is still honking and she's now walking backwards, balancing the coffee until her feet finally touch the ramp indicators, and Maka just stands there, watching the man.

This feeling of searching, is this who she's looking for? She doesn't know anymore. Feeling foolish, she starts walking.

* * *

Soul watches the woman walk down the street. The light turns and he hesitates. An old style limousine honks at him impatiently and he revs his engine, gunning it. He sails past the traffic before he makes a turn down a street parallel to the direction the woman is going.

_This is crazy_, he thinks, but he has to know. He thinks this is the girl from the apartment complex and he needs to know- is she the one? He's been remembering strange dreams lately, but there's also the matter of the song request. Had she been the one who wrote that note?

One block later, he's at a small park; he's almost certain she had been headed this direction. He parks the bike, desperately hoping he doesn't look as crazy as he feels. Trying to smoothe the mop of his disheveled hair, he's removed his helmet and secured it to the handlebars.

He sees her at the last possible minute and she's stopped walking, just staring at him. There's no logical reason for him to approach her other than he knows he needs to know. "Excuse me," he says softly.

"Yes?" she asks, her face lighting up a dusting of freckles...

He's taken back to the sound of the wind in a lonely crater, years ago. _When I see you again…_"Maka," he whispers.


	13. Chapter 13

**Epilogue**

At their normal Deathbucks, Maka feels like a child who has disobeyed her parents. She is presently trapped by Star and Kid, who have been grilling her on the mysterious body swapper for that past few weeks.

Having endured all manner of interrogation from: "Are you sure he's not a murderer?", "But are you sure this is the guy you were swapping with?", to "You body swapped and never told us!?", "Was it weird being a guy?", escalating with "Omg did you check out his junk-" (Star had a headache for a week, Maka was not sorry). She finally gave in, mainly to get them off her case. "Would you like to meet him?"

Both boys shared incredulous looks and then screamed, "yes" at her, in unison.

So, here they are. And, here she is-- because they're 'protecting' her.

The bell on the door jingles, and her breath catches when he walks in, dressed in dark jeans, boots, henley, and a dark grey beanie that hides his pale hair. He gives her a small grin, but she watches it disappear as Star and Kid stand up, towering over her, but also near the same height as Soul. Black Star steps around the table to meet him.

It'd be hilarious if it didn't feel so stressful, she thinks. Watching them both stretch to their full height while simultaneously leaning away from one another until- Maka doesn't know when the unspoken cue happens- but they break out with a hand clap that goes into a forearm bumping grasp with a back clap, and they pull away with identical maniacal grins.

On her left, Kid's hand stiffens on her shoulder. "Oh my death," he whispers, but she doesn't have time to ask him to elaborate as Soul stands behind the chair directly in front of her.

Star is watching with keen interest and Maka feels lost. It's clear something vital clicked for Star, but Kid still looks slightly skeptical.

"Dark Brotherhood quest-line," Soul says to Kid, eyes narrowed, waiting.

Star's face splits into a huge "Oh," his arms doing some wild things in the air. Maka watches, bewildered by this behavior, and then Kid's golden eyes light up. "It _is_ you!" he yells, and they simply shake hands while bringing it in.

They do know each other. They really, really swapped. It wasn't a dream. Ever.

"You all _really_ like your Deathbucks," he says to her, grinning. Star and Kid are chortling.

Her face is burning, but she returns the smile, nodding, heart overflowing with happiness.

/

Weeks later, Maka walks into Gran's shop, the little doorbell ringing merrily, and nearly runs into the back of a tall girl speaking to her grandmother about an order of sake. Her clients had insisted it be a particular brand- this is the only shop that carries it.

Not one easily taken off guard, Maka side steps the girl with a small smile to avoid confrontation and crashes into a girl of her same stature with bubblegum pink hair.

"Ooph," says the bright haired pixy. "Hey!"

With quick reflexes, Maka catches her before she can knock into anything. "I'm so sorry," she says, and immediately regrets looking at this girl's face. She does a double take between the girl with the very shrewd, very vivid green eyes, who is staring at her intensely, and back to the first girl, and feels the blood drain from her face. A graphic image of a jack-o-lantern emoji pops into her mind. "Ohmigod," she whispers.

"I know you!" says bubblegum pink, with a bright wide smile. "You're not Soul. I didn't get a chance to introduce myself last time. I'm Kim." She doesn't wait for Maka to respond, just hugs her on the spot.

"Ah," Maka stammers, arms held awkwardly at her side by the bubbly girl whose girlfriend is now looking at her with renewed, if not terrifying, interest, but Maka will not show weakness. "You remember me?"

"Mhm," she says brightly. Turning to her girlfriend, she says, "And you didn't believe me!" Followed by a very pink tongue.

Maka gives in trying to associate other colors with this other worldly being, and accepts that things are going to get a lot stranger. "What brings you to our shop?"

"They're buying the sake for the wedding," says Gran.

She will process all of this later, Maka decides. "Right," she says.

Kim startles her when she hugs her again saying, "We're going to become good friends!"

Maka marvels at her no nonsense demeanor. She can't help but like the girl, and feels glad they might actually have a chance to get to know one another.

When Jackie finishes up her business with Gran, Maka walks up to her. "I- I really appreciate all those times you covered for me," Maka says, not fully expecting a reply.

"You're a terrible waiter," she says, matter of fact.

Maka laughs nervously, never having claimed to be anything but.

"But, you're pretty great at blowing shit up," she finishes. "See you at the wedding!"

When they're gone, Gran turns to her, "They're sweet girls."

Maka is still staring at the door in disbelief. "How?" she deflates.

"Well you see," Gran launches into all the details. "The building Blake and you demolished was purchased by that girl's step-brother's boyfriend."

Maka is watching Gran sort this through on her fingers. "That man asked if you all had a planner. So, they exchanged the number, got a planner, and ordered Tsugumi's sake. It's her largest order." Maka can just see the pride radiating from her grandmother. "And, that pink haired one--" Gran leans in conspiratorially "--I think she's a witch."

"Gran!" Maka squeeks.

"No." Gran raises her hands placatingly. "A good witch."

Maka nods, uncertain about everything. Things seemingly working out, dreams of past lives seamlessly integrating with her present.

"If you're questioning whether you're allowed to be this happy, Maka," her grandmother says softly, looking at her candle lit shrine to Marika. "You are."

/

"Don't be mad," Kid says, leading her up to a dark storefront, and she's confused. "Soul said it'd be cool. I've met her and she's amazing."

Maka stares at Kid; he rarely has anything so glowing to say about anyone and honestly it's for him not for her. She's only here to fulfill her duties. "I'm not," she says, curious to see where Soul has worked these many years.

A tall, graceful woman greets them at the door. It isn't hard to see why Kid is taken with her, from the precise part in her perfect blond hair, the impeccably groomed eyebrows, to the way her black skirt is smoothed over her long legs-- Maka suddenly feels inadequate.

"I'm so glad you came," she says brightly to Kid, kissing both his cheeks, and then her eyes rivet to Maka, and the latter feels a thrill go through her as the blond appraises her with a hard to discern expression.

"You must be Maka," she says. Kid is visibly ecstatic with their interaction and Maka feels a little lost. It isn't until the tall woman turns that Maka sees it, skull and crossbones stitching on the rear of the skirt- and those memories come flooding back.

"Liz," she blurts, her cheeks immediately growing warm.

The tall blond looks over her shoulder, beaming like a cat who's caught a canary. "You do remember me," she says with a wide smile.

Kid is still laughing as Soul walks in from the back, a towel slung over his shoulder with a questioning look. Maka's face is bright red, and Liz is giggling.

"Oh," he says.

Liz's face is beaming. "I've always loved this patch job, but it makes so much more sense now," she says, giving Maka a friendly hug. "Soul, did I ever tell you Tsubaki and I exchanged numbers on that disastrous date?"

If possible, Maka's face is even more bright red. "Really?"

"Good," Soul says.

"Yeah," Liz responds, smiling. "I think time has a way of, you know, sorting things out." She hugs Kid, while showing him the place, her voice carrying through the open room as Soul and Maka stand next to the bar looking on. "I always liked Tsu, but that day I realized I knew why." She turns to smile at them, "When you know, you know. You know?"

Kid is positively beaming. Maka's hand is tingling where Soul's thumb is tracing circles on her palm. She knows.

* * *

There's a knock on the door that brings Soul back to the present and the reality that he still can't tie a bowtie for shit. "Come in," he mutters.

The door opens and Wes pokes his head in. "Ah, you okay?" he asks, and Soul picks up on his nerves. "You need help with anything?"

Soul stares at himself in the mirror. Outside of the room there are sounds of commotion. He tries not to pick at his boutineer, feeling somewhat lost. "Bowtie," he says, dragging the sound up into a hopeless question.

Wes' face splits into a huge grin, "Ah, that's nothing." He crosses the room in a few strides and quickly gives him a diamond knot. "There," he finishes.

Soul watches his brother standing in his own tux, staring at him. His neck feels itchy. "What?"

In true older brother fashion, his brother just shakes his head, pats his shoulder, and walks back to the door. "Don't trip," he finally says.

"Can't." Soul spits, "I'll be standing up front already."

Wes snorts and ends up giving Soul double finger guns as he exits the room, leaving him with his thoughts.

The Thompson Sisters is closed for a special event today.

Soul stands at the front of the now shining venue set up for this special occasion. His fingers rub his wrist absentmindedly.

They are joined by a tall figure in black, with bone colored hair that gives his appearance a very gaunt look, and Soul's heart begins pounding a million beats per second until the music begins and his pulse mercifully slows to match the tempo.

Because she is one of the youngest in attendance, Tsugumi walks up the aisle, tossing red rose petals while the small but close group of the assembled looks on with bright faces. She is followed by a very beautiful cat with a coat so black it almost gleams purple, a bright bow with rings attached to her neck. Gracefully, she sits next to the black clad man.

The doors open and Soul's heart skips a complete beat.

Maka is silhouetted by the afternoon Nevada sun. He paces his heart to her very measured steps as she walks carefully up the aisle, each step bringing her closer to him. At the last moment, she blows him a kiss, and then winks at Black Star, who lets out a choked sob on Soul's right as the doors open one last time.

Kid is now walking up the pathway and he looks dashing, perhaps even radiant, in his white tuxedo jacket and black bow tie, matching his groom-- but Soul only has eyes for the woman across from him, wearing a beautiful black cocktail dress.

After the ceremony, the food is served, toasts are made, and the lucky assembled let loose.

Wes, upon finally meeting Maka, picks her up completely swinging her around before finally setting her down. Liz introduces her to Tsubaki, Soul watching this unfold, happy to be a part of it. It is interesting seeing Harvar actually blush when he's introduced to Maka, Kilik happily discussing the construction plans on the project they'd helped clear the site for.

Presently, Maka is on the dance floor with her papa as Soul approaches the table.

"I'm glad they believed you," the old lady says, looking up at him as he takes the chair next to her and sits down.

"Hello Gran," says Soul. "I'm glad they believed _her._"

The old woman reaches over to hold his hand tightly, and he realizes how much he'd grown to care for her, how glad he is that she's alive. He leans over and kisses her forehead.

"Oh!" Gran says, with a girlish giggle. "You make me feel young again, stop. I think it's about time you go cut in." She gives him a friendly pat on his back, sending him off.

The smile falls from Spirit's face when Soul taps his shoulder. "You!" the red haired man whispers. And it's Soul's turn to gasp when the man traps him in tight embrace. Soul's unsure if he made up the whispered, "thank you," but seeing the man step away brushing at his face, he's pretty sure he didn't.

He turns back to the woman who holds his soul in her hands. "Maka," he breathes.

Musubi is time, and time finally returned their memories. He stretches out his hand, brushing her cheek, heart swelling when she presses against it. Slowly he pulls her gently to him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he wraps his arms around her, swaying slowly in contrast to the party happening all around them.

The grooms are blissfully party rocking to their own beat with Jackie and Kim. Liz and her wife are chatting animatedly with Wes and Patty. Harvar is teaching Gran about poker, while Kilik discusses sake with Tsugumi. Spirit is sitting with Kid's father, talking and watching the festivities.

"Wanna get out of here?" he whispers in her ear.

/

The wind is loud in his ears as they tear out of town on the motorcycle. Soul keeps a hand over the two that are entwined around his waist, hands he is intimately familiar with, and tries not to think in too much detail of the woman pressed securely to his back.

After a few minutes, he pulls off the highway. The sun is sinking faster in the western horizon.

It seems hard to believe that it's been nine years to the day since the comet hit Death City, six years since he'd driven out there to find her, but here they are.

He parks the bike, shutting it off. In the sound of silence the desert comes alive.

"Soul," Maka breathes near his ear, sending goosebumps through his core. "What are we doing out here?"

He points at the sun kissing the horizon, and they both watch. Soul holds her arms around him while she rests her chin on his shoulder until the last sliver disappears from view. "Kataware-doki," he whispers, turning his face to hers. The last of the sunlight catches on her freckles, and he's staring at her lips, waiting.

"When the world blurs and you might encounter something extraordinary," she says, closing the distance, pressing her mouth to his.

This isn't their first kiss, far from it. They had been thrilled to realize they actually lived in the same apartment complex- it was her that requested the song?! He was the one that played it!? The few months that they've been together, feel right, and there hasn't been a push for more.

It's enough for Soul that she's alive, that she is with him. That she's older than him had been an interesting detail. How had he forgotten the difference in their timelines? Her stature doesn't help. Taller doesn't mean older, he still quips at himself. But, still, he lets her dictate the pace of their relationship.

Something feels different tonight. He's unsure when she had moved from sitting behind him to sitting in his lap but he isn't going to complain about it.

When she says, "let's go back," he doesn't argue, and something in the set of her lips, the way she's looking at him, he knows she doesn't mean the reception.

/

He's sitting on the idling bike at a Walgreen's near the apartment. Maka had tapped his shoulder asking if he could pull over and he is but her willing partner.

Random strangers coming to the corner shop are staring at him. Soul concedes he might look like a pompous ass dressed in a pinstripe suit sitting on a motorcycle, but at the present moment, it doesn't matter because a leggy blond is exiting the store wearing his leather jacket, smiling brilliantly at him, and all his senses are tingling.

Fifteen minutes later he's parked the bike and shut off the ignition, woefully unsure what he's supposed to do next. Mulls this over as he stows their helmets in the saddlebags. Maka stands on the sidewalk, waiting patiently.

He steps up to her and wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, kissing the top of her head. Does he want more? He feels like he should be yelling 'fuck yeah,' but in reality he's unsure. This, her in his arms, alive, with him, this is normal and familiar- he's been alone for so long. What if he's terrible? Presently, she feels steadfast in his arms, there isn't a rush and that makes him feel more at ease.

When he starts walking in the direction of her place, she doesn't move.

"Uh," he begins, but doesn't finish his unformed thought.

Maka stands there for a minute until she makes up her mind. "Soul," she says quietly, his name on her lips sending a thrill through him. "Do you think, maybe, we could go to your place instead?"

Squeezing her hand, he simply turns and they both walk in the direction of his apartment.

The door opens, letting them into a darkened living room. Because he prefers to make his way through his realm in the darkness.

He's aware of the tension as he closes the door, locking it behind him. And this is where he stops. Beyond making out and some heavy petting, they haven't pushed the boundaries of their new relationship further. Thankfully, Maka saves him again. She steps out of her heels, leaving them at the door.

Soul watches helplessly as she shrugs out of his jacket, placing it carefully over the back of his leather couch. The moonlight streams in through the sheer curtains of the living room, giving Maka an ethereal glow.

"Would you mind?" she asks, standing in front of him, and it isn't until she sweeps her hand behind her head, gathering her long blonde hair, that he gets it.

Stepping closer to her, he holds her dress firmly at the top, gently grasping the pull tab, sliding it until it comes to a rest at the bottom stop. She's walking away from him, working her arms out of the sleeves, when he realizes what he hadn't felt when he had been busy unzipping.

Looking up, he sees her dress fall to the floor of the small hall that leads to his room. Quietly he removes his shoes and pads after her.

She's sitting at the edge of his bed, still wearing her nylons.

"You lied," she says, and he feels his heart skip a beat. "You told me you were going to write your name on my hand, so we wouldn't forget when we woke up."

_Oh,_ he lets out the breath he was holding. It's true, he hasn't told her everything.

"You're right," he begins, crossing the room to kneel at the bed between her legs. "I did." She looks at him, and he can see the tear trails that are on her cheeks, so he holds her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the glistening droplets.

"Did I ever tell you the last thing my dad said to me before he died," he asks. She shakes her head.

Before she can say anything, he places a finger briefly on her lips to keep her from interrupting. "I told you on the crater." He lightly fingers the red cord tied in her hair, "that, this, kept me sane- you gave it to me the day before I was in a car accident with my dad. The day the comet fell, he died and I got this." He takes one of her hands and presses it to his chest, above the angry gash of his scar. "He told me he loved me." He holds her tightly to him. "I lied, because, I didn't have enough time to tell you how much I love you. I never left a sacrifice, when I went to find you-- our calendar messages disappeared."

"What?" Maka asks softly.

"Did you ever try calling?" he asks her.

Her face goes blank for a minute and then it lights up, "When I came here," she says. "Your number didn't work."

Soul nods. "Musubi."

"Why though?" Maka breathes out shakily.

"Gran told me that if you don't leave a sacrifice, he takes what you hold most dear," Soul says.

Their memories of each other had been taken.

"Musubi couldn't take your words," Maka realizes.

"I thought, I'd lost you," he says, remembering the profound feeling of drowning he'd experienced when Liz pointed out her name in the book of the deceased. The gravity of despair.

"No, Soul, you found me," she says.

Soul holds her tightly, breathing in her essence. "I love you," he whispers.

Maka pulls away from him slightly, fingers reaching to undo the buttons of his formal jacket, sliding it off his frame. He watches her fingers undo the tie that now joins the jacket. One by one, she undoes the buttons of his shirt. He stays still as she works the material off his shoulders. His skin is covered in goosebumps, but he isn't cold.

Slowly, Maka traces the scar in a way that makes him wonder how familiar she is with it-- with his body. His face is red because he remembers the feel of her breasts in his hands-- _her hands_\-- on more than one occasion. He isn't a teenaged boy anymore, and he would like to think he's grown and matured since then.

Green eyes look up at him, and he swallows hard as she runs her hands down his arms until she holds his hands. And then, she's bringing his hands up to her chest and then her hands are gone. "I trust you," she says, and when a small moan escapes her lips, he realizes he's straining against his pants.

"Maka," he whispers, driven by some basic instinct. "Wanna kiss you," he murmurs into her neck, running his tongue over her soft skin, nipping, and sucking, aware of the sounds she's making.

She isn't budging; her fingers are near the scar where it meets his suit pants, until they're not. He suddenly has more room, because she's undone the dress pants, but he isn't worried about himself. He wants her. He pulls her up so that he can slide her nylons off, his fingers savoring the feel of her thighs down to her calves, until he rolls the stockings off her heels. Her hands are buried in his hair and it feels amazing, she feels amazing.

He looks up at her. "Maka," he whispers.

She nods her head. "I trust you," she repeats. When he still doesn't move, she sits on the bed, drawing her legs up and pushing herself back. Maka extends a hand, which he takes, and follows her further onto the bed. "Please," she says, letting her legs fall open.

And he all of a sudden gets it, why Kid had been chastising him about his carelessness with her skirts. All the reactions to him playing basketball. He ends up hugging her close to him, his face pressed to her tummy, her fingers still in his hair- how had he been so careless with such a precious being.

"Soul?" she asks cautiously.

He'll be okay, he's just so embarrassed about how oblivious he's been. Also, he knows nothing about any of this, except, he knows her. And the ridiculous heat on his face dies down as quickly as it comes.

He peeks up at her and she's looking back at him, fingers toying with his hair. "I feel like I'm seventeen," he says. "Porn just seemed so-" he grapples for the answer.

"Not what you were looking for?" she offers.

Her face is red, and he needs to give her kisses. He crawls up carefully, trying not to make his pants situation so obvious. "So," he says, kissing her lips. "What were you looking for, then?"

If possible her cheeks brighten even more. "You," she says. He catches the hand she's going to shove him with and gives it kisses.

"Same," he acknowledges.

"I'm- _was _single," she starts but then amends. "Cause I wanted to be," he finishes. She laughs and it does funny things to his body.

He palms her face, bringing her back to his mouth. That pull from out in the desert is very much present in them both. And in that moment he knows they'll figure this out, together.

"I love you, Soul," she whispers.

/

Soul stirs, hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness. He was dreaming of the time he met her again.

Only this time, his heart doesn't feel heavy because she's here with him. All the previous night's events fill his thoughts, and he feels like he's going to burst.

He allows himself a sleepy smile, stretching, feeling a little sore but pleasant. Reaching his left hand out to search for Maka, he hits the wall- which is strange because he's sure she ended up on that side of the bed.

A vibration directly under his head startles him. He rolls over and jolts awake. As he sits up, eyes wide open, his hands fly immediately to his chest. "Oh fuck." The voice is completely wrong.

His commotion wakes Maka who sleepily asks, "Are you okay?" But then scrambles, clutching at her throat. "OMG!"

Soul watches her thrash helplessly on the edge of the bed before she ungracefully falls out with a yelp. "Oww," she moans over the mattress horizon.

He crawls to the edge of his bed, wearing one of his old shirts and nothing else. It's surreal seeing his body sprawled on his floor wearing her expression. "You okay?" he asks.

Maka looks up at him from behind his hair- it's strange seeing himself through her eyes. He gets that she's seeing her own face looking down and they both crack up. They're still laughing hard when Soul's alarm goes off next to Maka on the floor.

* * *

_A/N:This has been my Resbang 2017 contribution. I hope you enjoyed it._

_I want to thank the Resbang 2017 Mods for putting on this event, you should too, they work really freaking hard! I sincerely appreciate the work of my lovely artists, Feather97 who collaborated with Fabiolangela, and the super sweet Ahshe'sgone (who also found like a bajillion commas I missed). I also had a sweet group of betas who have helped polish this up; thanks to silly-twin-stars, thebrightestfell, macabremermaid (who also put together a super sweet play list that contributed to this bad boi getting written), and my fandom wifey Professor Maka (who found a bajillion more commas I missed)! I love you all, I appreciate you all so much!_

_A few story notes: Maka's mama's name is a direct lift from The 5th Wave which is a fav book series- Marika Kimura is Ringer and I love her so freaking much and she's flawed like Maka's mama. So my own little tribute._

_Also, there is a fabulous post on Tumblr: _faithinhumanityr. Tumblr post/ 162355174503/this-neighbor ((w/out the spaces)) _and Marsh of Sleep who prompted the piano scene in chapter 12._

_My brother was crucial in providing motorcycle information (I know nothing!) he also made me re-watch Motocrossed, so there's that._


End file.
